Fate
by Skiptastic
Summary: We do not choose how life plays out, and change is something we must accept, but no one said you had to do it gracefully. Skippy Squirrel learns that when one thing changes, a wave of it will follow. Left on his own, the young boy's fate is decided by that of an aunt he never knew existed. Yeah, you know how it'll end, but the journey might be fun.
1. Chapter 1

**Fate**

**Chapter One**

**Do not own characters, obviously.**

* * *

They'd kept saying she'd been in an accident, but they never explained what kind. He hoped she was okay. They had told his babysitter, a teenage girl that he'd known for as long as he could remember, in hushed whispers across the room. Clearly she had a better understanding of the situation and with it started to cry. One of the two police officers approached him, the squeaking of his boots on the linoleum floor echoing in the sudden silence and making him wince. The fear that had slowly developed was now escalating, launching like a rocket. It seemed like the man was walking forever before he reached Skippy, as if the hallway had stretched just to keep him clueless a little longer. His fur rose in fright as a hand was placed on his shoulder, accompanied by a small chill that inched its way down his spine at a torturously slow pace. "We need you to come with us." The police man said, kneeling down to the squirrel's eye level.

"Do you need a ride home?" asked the other officer, who remained at the babysitter's side in the kitchen. She was crying too much to give a verbal answer, but did manage a slight shake of the head, which is more than the squirrel thought he could accomplish at the moment. His spine felt like solid ice, his thoughts had become incoherent, his arms felt like anvils, and numbness had claimed his legs, knocking him utterly senseless. The officers nodded to each other and tried to ease Skippy out the door in weak shoves and nudges, the girl following close behind. He was led to the black and white car parked in the driveway, a small urge to run off making more sense with each step. His babysitter shoved through the three and ran to her house across the street, trails of tears running down her face.

Skippy's mouth hung open as he watched her struggle to open the front door, something he assumed she did at least once a day since she'd learned how to use her hands. If whatever the police said had managed to turn a doorknob into a crippling obstacle for a teenager, then what was the effect it'd have on him? Would it erase his knowledge of how to grip and turn an object, forever restricting him to rely on the kindness of strangers to enter or exit a room? The thought demanded a nervous chuckle, but he was too afraid to even feign any. They opened the back door for him and, with one last consideration of running away, groaned as he jumped in, the door slamming behind him. He'd never been in the back of a police car before and never expected to be. All in all it was pretty similar to how he imagined it; iron bars blocking the front seats and a radio listing numbers and addresses on the dash.

As the car began to move Skippy found his fingers trying to dig into the uncomfortable plastic-like seats, obviously with no success. Franticly, the young squirrel suddenly began searching for the positives to calm himself down, like how they hadn't slapped a pair of handcuffs on him, something they always had to do after catching the bad guys. It wasn't the soundest argument, but it served its purpose and kept his teeth from chattering faster than they already were. For the longest time he just sat in the back seat and stared out the window, hoping that an explanation wasn't very far away. The familiar locations that he'd seen all his life slowly morphed into new ones with places and people he'd never seen before beginning to surround him.

The cops said absolutely nothing, content with the silence. If it wasn't for the small radio, buzzing to life every few seconds to deliver another set of numbers and addresses, then the silence would probably have killed young Skippy. Whenever he'd worked up the nerve to ask about his mom they exchanged a look and said they were sorry, again not bothering to explain why. "Is she hurt?" Skippy asked, expecting the same apologetic reply.

"Yes," the driving officer clarified. It was the worst answer anyone could give, shedding just enough light to increase his worry but not an ounce more. To make things worse they had already passed the local hospital about six minutes ago, which raised a lot of other questions that probably wouldn't be explained for the remainder of the drive, and if things continued as they were it might not even be that day. Luckily the car stopped ten minutes later outside a small, red bricked building, one that he didn't recognize. He must've missed the sign or identification because he didn't see any from the parking lot they had entered.

"Is my mom in there?" he asked, but as he expected he received no answer. They parked the car and whispered amongst themselves as they got out of the car. He was escorted inside the building, hands gripping each other in nervousness as a sliding door parted open. The second his paw hit the carpeted floor the breeze from the air-conditioning rushed at him, embracing him in its cold clutch. A woman dressed in a grey suit approached him, wearing what he could sense was a horribly fake smile. He had hoped his mother would be the one who greeted him, smiling and waving and apologizing for the worry she'd put him through. He looked left and right in the hope that he'd see her warm face, but was met with nothing but the sad eyes of people he'd never seen before. This place had a bad sense about it, strong enough to make the air thick with it. He turned to the cops, but they were already out in the parking lot and hopping back into the car, mouths moving in a way that had his ears burning.

"Hello little boy, it's nice to meet you." He looked back to see the woman holding out her hand. He gingerly shook it, too confused to hide his discomfort and usual shyness. The sincerity in this woman's voice, even the way she smiled, raised alarms from deep within Castle Skippy. She was faking everything and trying to lure him into thinking this place was safe and friendly, that everything would end with lollipops and praise. "You're Skippy, right?"

"Yes," the squirrel answered in a hushed voice.

"I need you to follow me to my office, I have some questions and I need you to answer them as best as you can." She again offered her hand, as if expecting him to hold it as she led the way, but the shake was about as much as he could tolerate. It took her awhile to get the hint but eventually her hand did fall to back to her side. She continued to smile and turned around, walking past the front desk and into a long hallway. He took a deep breath and followed her, taking one last look at all the sorry faces of the people in the lobby before he rounded a corner. He didn't know why she expected him to have answers, especially when no one would offer him any, but he would do his best.

What happened next was so quick that it fit in the blink of an eye, but the feeling of his world crumbling when he finally received an explanation would last his entire life. His mother wasn't coming back, would never come back. She was dead, had been for the past two hours ago. She was lying in a hospital morgue awaiting her ultimate fate, leaving him behind. This had to be a joke, some cruel prank, maybe some sick lesson that he was supposed to learn. Just this morning she had rushed out the door, running so late for work that she didn't have time to fix him breakfast. There was no way that was going to be his last memory of her? No way that she could have died in such little time? In what was probably a total of ten seconds a truck had ran a red light and now she was gone, it was impossible. Tears were shed as he cried into his hands, the urge to scream and shout and make irrational demands to bring her back overwhelming him until he had to give in.

The woman did not try to comfort him; instead she stood by and let him cry his heart out. After a good twenty minutes he finally calmed down, too tired to continue. The woman said nothing of his display, but merely opened a drawer from behind her desk and pulled out a beige folder with his name written on it. Skippy leaned back against the chair, his irritated eyes squeezed shut to block out the intense light. "Where's your closest relative?" she asked.

His lungs were exhausted, strained by the large amount of shouting. "Mom says we're the only two left in the family," he explained in a hoarse voice, his hand rubbing at his throat. "Grandma died when I was five, and Grandpa died three years ago." It finally struck Skippy that he was the sole barer of the family name, left to carry it on until Death decided it wanted to complete its collection. He was unable to push that thought out of his head, the pressure and enormity of it being all he could think of. A migraine formed as his thought process failed to slow down, one so painful that he actually found himself crying again despite the belief that he had no more tears stored up. He gripped his head and wept, an act that had his head feeling like it was on the verge of exploding. On the bright side his throat was way too sore to continue wailing, instead sending out almost soundless little grunts and sobs. After five minutes he had used up the little energy he'd recovered since his first outburst and was left feeling even more worn than he had earlier. He took several deep breaths, hands still cradling his head in some small sense of security.

"What about your father, do you know where we could find him?" she asked. Either too polite or too sorry for him, she had yet to acknowledge his multiple breakdowns. In a way it kind of annoyed Skippy, as if saying it wasn't important enough to acknowledge.

"I've never met him." A single word popped into his head: orphan. It was his new label, his lifestyle, the first thing anyone would think of when they saw him. Holidays would be filled with the faces of strangers, people celebrating new customs and traditions while his would vanish into obscurity. There wouldn't be hot chocolate with little walnuts used as sweeteners drank at five past midnight on Christmas Eve, or sitting in front of the tree and shaking presents to guess what was inside while his mom offered up the occasional shrug. Skippy could feel himself on the edge of his third emotional outburst of the hour, but it wasn't sadness this time. He didn't have the energy for something that hard, not again. This feeling was simple and clean. This was hate and rage and all the things that boiled his blood and turned his knuckles white beneath the fur. Even better was that he could direct it to whatever and whomever he felt deserved it, like this woman sitting before him with that faux look of compassion, as if she knew what he was going through.

"Did your mom ever mention god-parents?" her voice was suddenly grating and unpleasant on his ears, like nails being dragged across a chalkboard.

"No," he answered immediately. She seemed a bit taken back by the harshness that had corrupted his voice, but continued to smile. He simply stared back at her, so intensely that he might as well be trying to set her on fire with his gaze. She didn't seem to mind his anger though. Her job was to be the messenger of bad news so it was to be presumed that she was used to hateful glances and misplaced anger, in fact it was likely one of the first things she was warned of when taking on such a job. Still, a reaction would've been appreciated, even the fake ones she was only capable of delivering.

He resisted the itch to reach behind his back and bring out a mallet to slam down on her desk. It was only in times like this, when he was being pushed by anger, that he could produce the instrument of destruction, and passing it up meant he might never get the opportunity again. Just when he was about to give in to his urge his stomach began to growl, pulling him out of his way-too-brief anger and eliminating the mallet option altogether. The woman closed the folder, laid her pencil on the desk and rose from her seat. "Let's get you some food."

He was led to a cafeteria farther down the hall, the woman ignoring his protest. The constant growling from his belly obviously did not help his argument. She sat him at one of the many tables in the shiny white cafeteria and brought him a tray of food. What little he did try tasted bland at best and left his mouth with a horrid aftertaste that managed to push his appetite even further into nonexistence. Was this how all food would taste from now on or was it just this particular location? Truly a thought provoking question, but he had worse things to consider at the moment. Unfortunately the woman refused to stop talking, leading Skippy to miss the silence of the cop car. She repeatedly cautioned him that the cafeteria was closing and that, should he be hungry later, he'd be out of luck. It did nothing to make the food more appetizing, but he shoved down a few more bites of what vaguely resembled mashed potatoes, if only to silence her. "So where am I sleeping tonight?" he asked, dragging his spoon absentmindedly over the plate.

"We're going to have to keep you with us for the night, but we do have a room prepared." The squirrel nodded and – sick of both the food and the company – faked a yawn. She must've gotten the hint, as he was quickly placed in a small area for the night and reminded that it was only a temporary accommodation. There was a couch to sleep on, a small black and white television nailed to the wall in the corner, and a handful of broken toys to keep him occupied. They gave him a blanket and pillow to help him sleep, though both were far too itchy and uncomfortable to actually use. The last thing worth noting was a wooden chair that had been placed in front of the television for him to stand on so he could reach the buttons, making up for the long lost remote.

Skippy sat deep in the couch, the glow of the television illuminating the room in its bright glow. He paid it no attention, too caught up in his thoughts to focus on anything else. He was alone now, left to wander the world without the guidance of his mother. What would happen next, an orphanage perhaps? From what he knew they were scary, frightful places where he'd likely be bullied because of his small size. There was also very little privacy and no toys or possessions to call his own. The more he thought about it the more he pictured the building as a monster, with a set of terrifying red eyes and pointed sharp teeth, its claws reaching out and grabbing his legs, dragging him closer and closer towards its mouth until–

_Ha-ha-ha! _

A massive amount of applause and laughter came from the television, effectively breaking him out of his horrid nightmare. Skippy took a deep breath and tried to imagine a less frightening possibility. Foster-care was another option that came to mind, but he hadn't heard much about it personally. From what other kids at school had said there could be as many as five or six kids living in a small trailer, all trying to coexist with mixed results, and yet again his small size made him an easy source of torment for the older and tougher kids. Even if he was placed with the perfect family, one that treated him as their own, it could never be the same. They would never be _his _family; they'd be strangers with a strange home and strange smiles.

Of course there was the desperate last resort, one simple in concept but hard in execution. He could run away and never look back. They hadn't locked the door, and the building was small enough to make a quick getaway. The security was nothing more than a handful of night watchmen and janitors, which didn't scream state-of-the-art. There was no actual chance he'd survive in the outside world on his own though. He'd most likely end up in a police station being lectured about the stupidity of his actions, or, less preferably, dead. Sadly his common sense had been frayed through the large emotional turmoil of the day, making such a crazy notion look entirely too possible for him.

The squirrel hadn't expected to sleep that night, for obvious reasons, but all that crying had worn him out. He fought it as best he could, but it was an uphill battle. His eye lids grew heavier with every passing moment and every few minutes he'd nod off, awoken by the jerking of his head as it quickly fell to one side. Eventually he found it sitting was too much of a chore and, despite vowing not to, found he could no longer keep from lying down. Using his arm as a pillow and wrapping his tail around his body as a blanket, Skippy found enough comfort to make the couch bearable, but he was so tired that his standards had no doubt dropped. The squirrel, his eyelids growing heavy, still held onto a small hope that he'd wake up the next morning in his own bed to the sound of his mom calling him down for breakfast. Tomorrow was Saturday and she always made walnut pancakes for breakfast.

Some nightmares never end.

The young squirrel woke up, disappointed to find that he was still lying on the scratchy couch from the night before. Skippy spent quite a while trying to think of some reason, large or small, to get up and start moving. Learning he had none the boy just laid there, tightly cuddling his tail. The television in the corner played the early morning cartoons, the ones he'd always watched with a plate of hot pancakes in his lap. He didn't even move his head to glance at the glowing box, its sound practically white noise amongst his rampaging thoughts. He doubted a rhino stampeding through the room would have the capacity to catch his interest. Eventually someone did manage to grab his attention, the woman from yesterday whose name he had yet to learn and little desire to.

She opened the door to the room with a tray in her hand that she needlessly explained was breakfast for him. There was a cup of fruit, an egg, two pieces of burnt bacon and an orange juice, but yet again none of it looked edible. Skippy wondered if his appetite would ever return to him or if it was as far gone as his mother. The woman sat beside him on the couch, watching his every move in fear that he might kill himself with the plastic spork, or so he guessed that was her reason. After forcing down a few bites he was led back to her office. The nameplate on her desk, something Skippy had failed to notice in his first visit, read Linda, finally putting a name to the immense hatred he was feeling. "Did you sleep okay?" she asked.

No, he hadn't. It was filled with nightmares, all waking him up sporadically through the night. The worst part was that it was always the same vision: a simple replay of how he imagined his mother's accident had happened, right down to the crunching of the metal as the vehicles collided. Sensing honesty was certainly not what she wanted, he nodded his head and glanced around the room in fear that his facial expression may give him away. Even with a full night's sleep he was an awful liar, there was no telling how bad he'd be in his drastic exhaustion. "Good, now we've looked through your medical and birth records. There are no god-parents listed and your father's name wasn't printed on your birth certificate. Are you sure your mother never mentioned him?" Linda asked. He nodded instantly while suppressing a large yawn. She was visibly disappointed by his answer, but continued smiling as she pulled out what he assumed was the same beige folder from the other day.

"So what's going to happen to me?" Skippy asked, leaning forward in his chair to stay awake.

"What do you mean?"

He kept from rolling his eyes, too tired to even bother, and thought of how to simplify it. "I'm an orphan, right?" he questioned, awaiting her confirmation. It took Linda some time and quite a bit of stuttering before she was able to admit it, but a yes did eventually find its way to the surface. "So where will I go now?"

"Well there are quite a few things we have to do before it comes to that, like searching for next-of-kin. If we can't find any remaining family members then yes, you'll be sent to an orphanage and put up for adoption."

For the last few years his mom had made it clear that they were the last of the family, which meant that there was no "if" about it. By the end of the week he'd either be at an orphanage or in a foster home, it was just a simple matter of time. Somehow he had a reserve of anger that chose that moment to burst, the last of his grogginess disappearing. "What if I don't want to be adopted?" he asked, feeling the wakening powers that came with being angry.

"Well it's . . . not really up to you Skippy, you're only a boy." Skippy had expected that answer but wasn't expecting the boost in rage that came with hearing it aloud, accompanied by the shaking of his arms.

"So I don't get a say in this?" his voice raised a few octaves, just a little under shouting level. He didn't want to waste what little energy he had from his anger by using it up quickly, instead he wanted to let it build until he reached his limit. "It's my life and I don't get to decide what happens next, where I go or who I go with? I just have to deal with it!"

"Skippy, we can't just send you back to your house. You need supervision and guidance and someone to take care of you." She explained, though it fell on the deaf ears of a stubborn and frightened child.

"So I need a mother, but since mine is dead it needs to be a new one?" he asked, finding his voice beginning to lose its hostility and start to crack. He was close to tears, the only thing holding them back being his anger.

"Skippy, you need to calm down."

The squirrel threw his arms up in an exaggerated shrug, bent on voicing every thought he could before the approaching tears broke through. "Heck, let's throw in a father and maybe a sibling or two, just to sweeten the pot!"

She had a brief look of anger, but it disappeared almost immediately. It was a mild relief to find that she actually had honest emotions and feelings, to learn that she just might be human after all. He started to have his doubts when all her emotions came off as fake and insincere. "No one can replace your mom Skippy, but–"

"But you'll sure try!" he yelled, eyes watering. He hands were shaking beyond his control, to the point that he clutched at his armrests just to try and keep them still. That wasn't the only reason he gripped at the wood though because there was also the increasing need to reach behind his back and summon his mallet. Skippy was scared that if he didn't restrain himself he'd do something regrettable.

"Listen young man," she began, but the young squirrel refused to hear the rest. He jumped out of the chair and stomped out the door, slamming it shut as she called his name. He was in too bad of a mood to cry in front of this woman again and despite all his anger he didn't want to swing his mallet at her face, not yet anyway. The squirrel ran down the halls, dodging everyone he passed along the way and hoping they didn't notice the tears that were starting to fall down his cheeks. Skippy rushed back into his room and slammed the door, burying himself in the couch and starting to sob into its cushions. Earlier that morning he had questioned what point there was in getting out of bed and now, a breakfast and argument later, he still had no reason to get up. The confirmation of his fears had given him even more reasons to just curl up on the sofa.

For the majority of the day he was left alone in the room, free to cry and whimper and hug his knees in privacy. The only interruption had come at noon when a knock on the door broke his solitude. The voice of a man offered to escort him to the cafeteria so he could grab lunch. Skippy stayed quiet in hopes that the man on the other side of the door would just leave him alone. "You awake?" the man asked, remaining persistent. Skippy rolled over so his back was to the door, aware of the chance that the man might poke his head in the room. The young squirrel didn't want anyone to see his tear-stained eyes and damp fur, didn't want their pity or apologies. "Right, okay, well the cafeteria's open until eight if you need anything."

Skippy heard the sound of footsteps moving away from the door and breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that once again he was left alone. He spent the rest of the day sealed off from the world, something that he desperately needed. His ticket was stamped and soon he'd be sent to complete strangers, leaving his friends and home behind just as his mom had left him. Still, with all she had said, Skippy couldn't deny that he felt a little guilty over how he'd yelled at Linda. She was only trying to help him and he blew up at her, but in his defense he couldn't control that spark of anger. She was both the closest person at the time and the one that wanted to discuss his less-than-bright future, which made her the perfect venting target. But his mom would've scolded him for that outburst had she still been alive and that was more than enough to make him regret his actions. He vowed to apologize later, if his emotions didn't get the better of him again.

* * *

Slappy Squirrel, a name that sounded familiar and yet one he knew for a fact he'd never personally used. Linda had entered the room with a large smile and a folder in her hands, clearly not holding any ill feelings towards him for their last meeting. She explained that the police had found an envelope tucked in his mom's closet drawer, slightly ripped and unopened. Inside were two fifty dollar bills and a card, addressed to him. She sat in the wooden chair beneath the television and handed him the card to read. It had an illustration of a cake with the caption wishing a happy birthday. "_Dear sis, sorry I couldn't make it to Skippy's birthday party, but you probably wouldn't want me there anyway. Tell the kid to buy himself something nice and wish him a happy birthday from his aunt. Love, Slappy._"

He was torn; on one hand relieved to know that it wasn't off to an orphanage, and on the other sad that life was still moving forward, despite the loss of his mother. As unbelievable as it sounded he couldn't imagine a world without her aid. He had no idea what Slappy was like, obviously caring enough to send him a hundred dollars, but not enough to ever introduce herself. Why wouldn't his mom have wanted her to come to his birthday, or had denied her existence to him? Was she a criminal of some kind? What conspiracist paradise had he found himself in? And lastly why was his mind digging to find a face and description for the name of someone he knew beyond a doubt he'd never met? "So we looked her up and she lives in Burbank, California. Have you ever met her?"

He shook his head, "No . . . I don't think so, but the name sounds familiar."

"About thirty years ago she was a cartoon star with Warner Brothers. She was never as big as Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck, but she had a few classics. I think they still show some reruns every weekend." At once everything clicked into place, at least everything that involved Slappy. He'd seen her once about two years ago while channel surfing and was immediately hypnotized be her actions. He watched for three or four minutes as the grey and white squirrel outsmarted a wolf in red overalls at a construction site, bouncing from one situation to another as she spat out one-liners and bombs. He enjoyed her antics and planned to watch more until his mom walked into the room and changed the station, bluntly stating that Slappy was a bad influence. He never would have considered that the person his mom had strictly forbidden him from watching would turn out to be his aunt, her sister.

Skippy had been scared by the belief that he was all that remained of his family, but knowing that there was one other eased the strain on his mind. Unfortunately while that fear had disappeared a new handful had formed to fill its place. He still had no idea what Slappy was like, if she was as happy and bouncy as she was in those cartoons, or if she'd even want to take him in. His mom must've had some reason to keep her a secret, but what could it be? What could she have done to deserve being ignored for ten years? "I just thought you'd like to hear that there isn't a hundred percent chance of an orphanage in your future as far as I can tell." Linda explained, breaking the silence that had fallen. "I knew you were scared about that."

Skippy bit his tongue, quite uncomfortable with what was to follow, but there was no doubt it was necessary. His mother had taught him to admit to his mistakes, to remain calm and clear minded and never snap at a person. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to snap at you earlier, but I was just so – "

"Scared?" she interrupted.

Skippy shook his head, "Angry."

"Well of course you were," she placed a hand on his shoulder, unaware of just how much he hated it. "You've suffered a great loss Skippy and you think it's not fair." The squirrel found her tone rehearsed, much like everything else she'd displayed since they'd met. It was a shame as she'd actually been doing well up until that moment. She'd shown genuine excitement and happiness at finding his aunt but now reverted back to the usual false sincerity. He knew he wasn't the only orphan she'd ever dealt with, only the most recent, so why hadn't she learned to properly fake emotions before meeting him? "And it isn't, but just because her life has ended doesn't mean yours goes with her." Skippy nodded, hoping that she'd stop speaking if he just humored her enough. As surprising as it may be, her scripted speech wasn't exactly lifting him out of his depression.

"Is she married, does she have kids?" he asked, hoping to move her past the justification he really didn't want to hear. Skippy wanted to know everything he could about Slappy, especially if he was supposedly going to live with her, not about how unfair things had become. Linda shook her head, finding that answering his questions without the use of syllables was the best option. His eyes went from her face to the beige folder tucked under her arm, a sudden desire to snatch it and read through the pages. He assumed that it had a decent amount of knowledge on his newly discovered relative. Why would she bring it all the way to his small quarters if it wasn't relative to his situation? "Is that folder about her?" he pointed to it, finding it just a few inches away from his finger. She nodded her head, giving the squirrel and tiny moment of positivity.

"Unfortunately you're not allowed to look as it is confidential background information, but you can ask her all the questions you want when she comes to get you."

Skippy found himself sitting a little taller, unsure if he'd correctly understood her. "What do you mean I can ask her myself? Is she here?" Skippy was suddenly filled with nervousness, describable only as stage fright.

"No, but we have tried calling her. We got the machine and had to leave a message, but we expect to hear back from her soon." Linda explained, glancing at her watch. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?" Skippy gave her an incredulous look, amazed at the sheer stupidity of the question. She had given him very few answers and stated that he should ask Slappy herself when they met, giving him very little information on his current situation, and now she wanted to know if he wanted to talk about it? His hand curled into a fist, so tight that he could hear his knuckles snap. He bit his tongue and just shook his head, fighting the urge to yell and shout. This was his room, which meant he had no other place to go if he needed to get away. "Okay, well I'll be in my office if you change your mind." With that she rose from the couch and left the room, leaving the door open. Skippy stomped over to it and slammed it shut, kicking it for a few seconds afterwards and building up an aching in his foot.

* * *

**A/N:** And here we go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Fate**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Slappy had been standing in the kitchen for the past twenty minutes, replaying the message over and over. Not only was her sister dead but her nephew was now waiting to be picked up. Of course a large decision had to be made upon learning this information, one that would drastically affect everything. Slappy had never been close to her sister. From birth they couldn't have been more different, and time only managed to strain their already fragile relationship. It was bad long before the death of their mother, but that was the event that severed the relationship. The older sister had not attended the funeral, stating that their mother wouldn't have wanted her there, and the younger sister was unable to view it from any perspective but her own. Slappy was painted as someone of pure selfishness with a heart of coal, and that was now the last thing her sister would ever tell her.

Slappy had now outlived most of her family, sharing the weight of carrying on the family name with her nephew, one she'd never met or seen outside of a few photos. She should have called the woman back and told them to pack his bags, that she'd be there in a couple of hours to pick the kid up and whisk him away, but she couldn't. Instead she was forced to the kitchen chair, feeling a sensation she was unfamiliar with: fear. Yes, as his aunt she had an obligation to rush to his rescue. But she was horrible around kids, as unbelievable as that sounded about a cartoon star. She was used to parent calling to complain, to say she was too violent and leaving too big of an influence on their kids. The squirrel could care less about that though, always stating that the kids' faults were on their parents and guardians.

That led to the next reason why she shouldn't take the kid in. Her life could be summed up in very few words, and most of them were just synonyms of each other. There was dangerous, reckless, carefree, and most of all there was irresponsibility. She had grown use to only taking care of herself, having forgotten what family felt like. She was a lousy cook, a horrible housekeeper, rude, attracted to danger, and not very good with her emotions. Did any of that equal quality parenting? The kid would probably be better off living with someone else, a nice family with a large yard and plenty of toys to keep him occupied. Her gift to him would be to never meet the aunt his mother had good reasons to hide from him. It wasn't entirely selfish though, and that's what she kept telling herself as she sped out the house without the intention of calling them back.

Winter in California was no different from fall, spring, or summer. No one could ever tell exactly when the season changed and frankly nobody cared, the only thing that seemed to change were the shops and the trends. The sun had set but the temperatures and attitudes, which should have been included on the aforementioned list of things that never changed, remained the same. Driving down the streets, one had to be prepared for extended fingers held out car windows, language that'd make George Carlin blush, and drivers that were practically trying to kill you just so they could get home a little faster. And for all those reasons Slappy loved this city. Anywhere else and she'd be told she had an anger problem, but here in Burbank she was just another ordinary citizen, albeit one who could store a good two tons of explosives in her purse. It really was the only place she'd ever felt comfortable. Her own hostile and homicidal slice of paradise, except today there was no comfort to be had in driving through the intersection like a maniac, or hearing the orchestra of horns and curses ring out in the distance.

She stopped outside an apartment building with her car parked half on the front lawn and half in the road. The squirrel slammed the car door shut and nearly ran into the lobby, shoving a few bystanders out of her way as she did so. She dashed past the reception desk and to the elevator, pressing the pale white button by its steel doors about a dozen times in rapid succession. Her foot tapped at the floor in a steady beat, unsatisfied with the lack of motion. After a few seconds of waiting she ran to the stairs, her heart beating like a piston. Slappy Squirrel wasn't one to freak out, often the picture of calm and collected, but those few instances where she did have a breakdown she always ran to the same person: her closest and dearest friend Walter Wolf. It sounded pathetic calling the very person she'd consistently caused bodily harm to her closest friend, not to mention crazy, but the honest truth was they got along quite well.

Walter, dressed in a long white nightshirt and matching cap, groaned and mumbled as he shuffled to the door. He was almost asleep when the loud knocking began to echo through his apartment, and it was less than enjoyable to have to be separated from his warm and cozy bed. "Hold your horses you mishugina!" he shouted as he fiddled with the locks, cursing them under his breath with every fumble. He opened the door and found Slappy, a hand in her purse, no doubt trying to find a mallet. "Do you know what time it is?" he asked, expecting the usual smart-aleck response. Much to his surprise she had no reply, just heavy breathing as she shoved her way inside. "Slappy, you okay?" Slappy's breath finally seemed to catch up with her and her heart stopped from beating out of her chest, allowing her to give Walter a frantic explanation. "So are you going to go get him?" the wolf questioned when she finished. The squirrel was amazed with how calm her friend remained, envying how not one glimpse of panic had flashed across his face the entire time she was talking.

"I . . . I can't." She stuttered, leaning forward on the green couch. "I mean what am I supposed to do with a kid?"

"Play, have fun, be childish?" the wolf suggested, taking a sip from the tea he'd made before setting the cup back on the coffee table. "So no big change, huh?"

"Yeah, but I'm also irresponsible and reckless. You think that'd be good for a kid to be around?" Walter nearly did a spit take, unaware that the squirrel could acknowledge her shortcomings. Slappy was very prideful and in the twenty plus years he'd known her she never admitted to being anything but amazing. He suddenly had a good grip of how stressed the squirrel really was and scooted closer to her on the couch, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I bet it's better than being all alone, which is what he is right now. His mom, your sister, just died. Can you honestly say he'd be better off getting sent to an orphanage than he would be with you?" he asked. Slappy opened her mouth, prepared to say she did feel that way. An orphanage could look after and provide for the kid way more efficiently than she could, but the more she thought about it the less sure she was. Skippy stood a much better chance if he stayed with her than he would on his own at an orphanage. He had a better chance of getting through this if he had some family to lean on versus an army of strangers, as much as it killed her to admit it. "Listen, why don't you take him in for a few days, at least until some other options come along?" he suggested.

"It's a kid, you can't lease them out." Slappy chuckled, leaning her head back against the couch and staring at the fan blades as they swung around and around.

"My sister took in a girl once, they got along horribly. Still, they did love each other deep down. After about two weeks she found a nice foster family, but she still sends birthday cards." Slappy looked at him with wide eyes, intrigued by the idea. The wolf knew he had her; the only thing that remained was to go in for the kill and hope for the best. "Besides, don't you think you owe it to your sister to look after her son, even if it's only for a week or two?"

"You had to throw in a guilt trip, didn't ya?" she sighed and rubbed at her forehead. The wolf nodded, a smirk painted on his snout. "Do you really think I could do it, look after a kid?" she questioned. He nodded, somehow managing to numb the fluttering sensation in her stomach when even the violence of California traffic could not. It was moments like this when Slappy really valued her friendship with the guy, and she did her best to vocalize it. "Ah, what do you know?" she swatted at the air and rose from the couch, stretching. "Alright, maybe I'll call them back and tell them I'll look after him for a while." She begrudgingly thanked him for listening, as she usually did after one of their late night conversations, and walked to the door.

"Who knows, you might actually take a liking to the kid and keep him around." Walter said, grabbing the two cups from the coffee table and taking them into the kitchen.

She laughed, "Yeah, that'll be the day. I'll talk to ya soon Walter, tell ya what I decided to do." She gently closed the door and walked to the elevator, the sounds of locks being turned echoing from Walter's door down the hall as she pushed a button. Slappy hadn't known what she was expecting to gain from the wolf's company, but it certainly didn't end with her being talked into taking the kid. She figured he'd offer up some useless advice and a personal story, both of which he still did, but not for it to win her over. It was bizarre that when it came to Walter she could predict every one of his traps, but a few encouraging words strung together managed to catch her by surprise. Now she was actually thinking of taking in some stranger, to feed and look after as if he were her own? If Slappy didn't know any better she would have believed Walter casted some sort of spell on her, something to help persuade her into helping out the nephew she knew very little of. Maybe the tea was laced with some hypnotizing drug?

The elevator doors opened and the squirrel stepped inside, relived to find she had the thing to herself. She pressed the button for the ground floor and leaned back against the wall, groaning in exasperation. Her head felt like it had been put in a vice, and every passing minute it was being squeezed tighter and tighter. The annoying music being played overhead wasn't helping much either and if her head wasn't so clouded she'd smash the loudspeaker it was coming from. A bell dinged and the doors slid open to the lobby, almost entirely deserted now save for the receptionist seated behind her desk and a woman sitting on a sofa in the waiting area. Slappy left the building, marched through the streetlamp lit parking lot, hopped in her horribly parked car with a new yellow ticket placed on the windshield and sat there in the dark. She continued to loiter for ten minutes, changing her mind over and over and over again. Go pick the kid up? Leave him there? Go pick the kid up? Leave him there? Each side kept presenting its pros and cons and every time Slappy started to lean in favor of one option the other, fueled by guilt or practicality, beckoned for her to reconsider.

As tough as she knew she was, there was no chance she could forsake the kid and pretend everything would be alright for him. In the end it was obvious what she had to do: take the boy in until he had a proper place to live and responsible parents to look after him. Slappy started the car and turned the radio as loud as it could go, hoping to silence the thoughts and doubts raging in her head. While Walter was always available for her, the traffic of rush hour wasn't, especially not on a Tuesday night. She drove back home, intent on calling the woman back and making arrangements for Skippy to stay with her, at least until they could find him a better foster family. Sadly that decision started to slip yet again as she pulled into the driveway of her home and she started looking for excuses to put off picking up the phone.

Slappy looked over the spare room of her tree. Despite having a bed and fireplace she'd only ever used it for storage, placing box after box in the corners until that was the only purpose it could serve. Now it had to be cleaned, unless she planned on forcing Skippy to sleep on the couch, and with all the work that'd have to be done she was beginning to consider it. With an iron-will she began to drag the boxes out until the bed and dresser were the only things left, and she dreaded when it was officially finished. She then moved on to vacuum the carpet, then threw the blue blankets and pillows into the wash, and then cleaned the fire pokers. She continued until the room was spotless and without a doubt the cleanest thing in her entire home. Slappy sat on the edge of the bed, aware that there was no putting off the inevitable and that if she cleaned the room any more the wood would likely rot. She sighed and summoned all her courage to walk downstairs and pick up the phone.

* * *

Skippy sat in the woman's office yet again, only this time his emotions weren't as easy to label. Slappy, the aunt he'd learned of only yesterday, had called them back and said that she would take him in until a foster family had been found. Clearly Linda was expecting relief and gratefulness, but why? He was still motherless, was still being taken to a temporary home, and now that was only until they could find another temporary home. He was being passed around like some unwanted little nuisance and she thought that deserved a smile and hoorah? It was enough to make the young squirrel question the sanity of whoever gave her this job. "She'll be here later today to pick you up. Are you going to be alright until then?" she asked.

"Why change things now," he muttered, resting his head in the palm of his hand. "Can I head back to that room now?"

"Sure, do you want me to walk you back?" she asked, her hands pressed against the desk in preparation to stand up.

Skippy jumped out of the chair and turned to the door, eager to get out of that office, the memories and tears shed in that area too fresh to stomach. "I think I can find my way back on my own." She let out a nervous chuckle and returned to her work. The young squirrel opened the wooden door and walked down the hall, clearly in no hurry to get back to that awful excuse of a room. Too bad it was the only place he had to go. So his aunt was now coming to fetch and drag him back to Burbank, but not for the long run. She was going to pass him off the second her guilt allowed her to, and more than likely never look back. The thought was infuriating and the brown squirrel found a familiar emotion rising up inside him. Skippy stopped outside the door to his room and slapped his hand against the wall, trying to ventilate his anger before he exploded. He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him, finding it did little to release any stress.

Skippy sat on the edge of the chair under the television, almost hoping it'd fall on his head and crush him to death. He dragged his hands down his face and bumped his fist together, counting to ten and holding his breath and trying every other relaxation technique he had been taught. None of it worked, and that only made him angrier. The irony of that did calm him a bit, but not enough to ease how white his knuckles were. He bumped his fist together and glanced around the room, spotting only the couch and a few beat-up toys. The squirrel wondered if others in his position were the causes for the bumps and welt to those toys, if some boy had smashed the car or some little girl had thrown the dollhouse against the wall. He was about to rise and work out his hostility on the toys as well, until something better presented itself.

A large sound of applause rang out from the television, as if it wanted his attention. It struck him that he'd be leaving soon and that the television was indeed a breakable object, which offered up such nice potential. Of course slamming his fist against it would have little effect, but there was that one little thing he had yet to properly use. He sneered and reached behind his back, searching for the solution to his problems. He found it easily: a trusty mallet whose origins he couldn't explain. Sure, he could use it on the cars and dolls, but that just didn't sound as appealing, and wouldn't it be criminal if he didn't use his abilities properly? With no hesitation Skippy took a step back and swung the mallet. The screen shattered and rained shards of glass and sparks down on him and the carpet. The squirrel took another few steps back, brushing a few tiny bits of glass from out of his fur and trying to pick his jaw off the floor.

A second passed until he regained control of his body and, telling himself that he was already too far to stop, continued to slam his hammer into the broken electronic. He gained more force and momentum with each swing, losing himself in a pattern. There was only one thing going through his head, one small command: swing harder. The crunching and breaking of plastic turned to white noise as he finished with the television. The activity was one of the most enjoyable thing he'd done over the past few days and he was sad to see it finished. But a new feeling had crept out of the darkness, one he hadn't felt in days: calm. His mind was cleared of every single thought and fear, leaving nothing but relief and tranquility. Skippy let out a deep breath, one that seemed to take a good deal of weight off his shoulder, and slumped into the couch, fist wrapped around the handle of his destructive little friend. He could hear the beating of his heart and cherished its soothing rhythm until it faded back into silence. He placed his hand behind his back and felt his grip on the sleek wood disappear, confirming that his hand was now empty. He'd never felt such release like that, never truly gave into the rage, but it was something he was desperate to try again soon.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the shorter chapter, but I felt this was a nice place to end off on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fate**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Slappy parked her car outside the building and glanced at the address. This was the right place, and behind those sliding glass doors was her new ward, a young boy who'd only heard of her through birthday cards she wrongly believed his mother had given him. With one last breath she left the car and slowly approached the building, taking baby steps towards the front door. The squirrel felt like no time had passed until she was standing at the front desk, but the clock hanging on the wall said differently. She almost keeled over when she learned it had taken fifteen minutes to walk about half a yard. "Can I help you?" a perky blond asked, slowly tearing herself away from her computer to look at the squirrel.

"Yeah, I'm here for Skippy Squirrel." She explained, doing her best to sound calm. The grey squirrel had decided on the drive over that she wanted to make a good impression on her nephew, one that didn't involve nervous shaking or fearful glances. Luckily she was a seasoned cartoon heroine, which meant she could easily portray relaxed and tranquil, even if under the surface she was racked with fear herself. It just took a few deep breaths and a constant reminder that this was important, not only for her but for her nephew as well.

"Oh, you must be his aunt." She exclaimed. Slappy would've made some sarcastic remark about her intelligent insight or gifted abilities of perception but felt that insulting the people she was picking a kid up from might not be in her best judgment. Instead Slappy did the unthinkable and held her tongue, a feat that no one would ever believe possible. "Head down the hall and enter the fourth door on your left." She pointed to the hall with her pen and went back to the computer, no doubt trying to solve world hunger before her lunch break.

"Yeah, thanks." Slappy said, though she remained firmly in place before the desk for another few seconds. The blond looked back up at her, scratched her head, and resumed typing. The grey squirrel took in what had to be the hundredth deep breath she'd taken that day and began the next trek of her unnecessarily long journey. Luckily it didn't take nearly as long to walk down the hall as it had for her in the parking lot. The fourth door on the left, though no different than the third or second, had a much more frightening weight about it. She brought her fist up to the door and prepared to knock, finding that it was harder than she'd imagined. She knocked, her heart mere seconds away from pulling a wild take and jumping out of her chest, and took a step back. A few seconds later a woman in a grey suit opened it, a warm smile on her face. Slappy had worked in Hollywood long enough to know when someone was acting and everything about this woman screamed rehearsed. The squirrel did have to give her credit for the performance though as it did look genuine for a second. It even managed to relax her, as if she was on some set in Burbank filming another cartoon.

"Oh, you must be Skippy's aunt?"

"What gave it away, the bushy tail or the fur?" she asked, finding that being in the presence of a fellow actress had restored her to her usual self.

"Both," The woman gleefully answered, not breaking her charade of happiness. Slappy pegged her as the type of person that had a calendar filled with pictures of cats and rainbows, unable to be brought down by anything life could throw at her. "Come in and have a seat Miss Squirrel and we'll discuss your arrangements." She stepped out of the door frame and held her arm out towards the chair that rested before her desk. Slappy walked past her and sat down, discomfort washing over her. It was practically torture to see the woman sit down in a plush leather chair while she was regulated to a lumpy wooden one. She was reminded of what it felt like to be called down to the studio executives back at Warner Brothers, the sense that you were going to be lectured on some misdeed you'd committed tearing at every one of your nerves. "So you said you wanted to look after Skippy until we could find a foster home for him, yes?"

"Uh . . . yeah, is that alright?" the squirrel asked, unsure as to why her approval mattered.

"Oh yes, it happens more often than you'd think, though most of the time the child and adult usually bond and stay together after we've found the family. It's touching, certainly, but a wee bit annoying." She held up her right hand and scrunched the tip of her index finger and thumb close together, the universal sign of a smidge.

"Well, I ain't the parenting type so ya don't have ta worry about that happening."

"Oh, that's what they all say." She waved her hand in the air to dismiss the notion.

"Oh, really?" the squirrel mocked, immediately scolding herself for not keeping a tighter grip on her behavior. This woman was overly cheery, but who's to say she wouldn't get angry and deem the squirrel unfit to take care of a child. It was bad enough Slappy thought she was unable to look after something so helpless, she didn't need a stranger thinking it too. "How long do you expect it'll be before ya find a family for the kid?" she asked, wishing it hadn't sounded like she was eager to ditch the kid, despite that being exactly how she felt.

"Well there's no set time limit or –"

"Ballpark it for me," Slappy interrupted, too nervous to keep up the polite charade.**  
**

The woman's act waivered for a brief moment, but in the blink of an eye she regained her composure and chipper attitude. Slappy could tell the woman was starting to realize just how much of a hurry she was in to get rid of the kid. The woman laced her fingers together and laid her hands on the desk, leaning forward. It was quite a successful metamorphisis, changing from being as harmless as a snail to as frightening as a lion. If being a social worker didn't pan out then this woman needed to go into the film industry, she obviously had the skills for it. "For a human kid of Skippy's age it's roughly two to three weeks, but for a 'toon it's usually a bit longer. I'd say a month, maybe a month and a half. Keep in mind though this is just a guess and that we can't say for certain Skippy will get adopted that quickly." Slappy nodded, her stomach dropping when she learned she'd be playing role model for double the time she'd expected. "That won't be a problem, will it?"

"No . . . no, I was just curious."

The woman pulled open a desk drawer and grabbed a folder. "I need you to sign this paper saying Skippy will be your ward until a permanent solution can be reached." She handed the paper and a pen to the squirrel. In the number of years she'd been an actress Slappy had instinctually learned to never sign something without first reading over it, which she spent a good ten minutes doing. Content, the squirrel brought the tip of the pen to the bottom of the page. "Miss Squirrel, I strongly hope you're aware of the responsibilities that come with having a kid. I know you may feel responsible for him now, but make sure you keep his best interest in mind, even if that means leaving him in an orphanage for a while." Slappy nodded, trying to imagine which fate was worse. With all the hope and courage she could muster Slappy signed her name and handed it back over.

"So now what?" she asked.

"Now you meet your new ward. Would you like me to bring him down here or would you like to come with me to meet him?"

"Lead the way." Slappy said, almost shaking with nervousness. She tried to calm herself by pushing out the negative worries and forcing in only positives. Maybe the kid wasn't as bad as she thought he was, maybe he was one of those independent types and wanted to be left alone for a little while? And just because she and her sister never got along didn't mean Skippy would immediately hate her. There were too many uncertainties to believe they were all going to be bad and that's what she continued to tell herself as she followed the woman through the hallways, the fright refusing to be numbed.

Skippy stood outside the room as a janitor swept up the glass and plastic from his destructive little outburst. His forehead was pressed against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. The euphoria he'd achieved from swinging that mallet was being replaced by his returning headache, and his depression was back, evidently getting stronger in its absence. He wasn't sure what scared him more: how inescapable his depression seemed or the odd sense of familiarity he'd developed with it, like it was right where he belonged. Pushing that nightmare away for future reference, Skippy instead focused on the real world, the one that hadn't crumbled with the death of a single person. Currently that meant reflecting on the suspicion that had been sent his way. People had asked him questions about the scene in his room, but he was able to sell an "I have no idea" answer. They were forced to believe him solely on the basis that the only thing he could've used to smash the television was the untouched chair underneath it, too large and heavy for him to even move, let alone slam into a television over and over. He had still received a few unsavory little glances and his ears burned as they whispered his name, but he'd still gotten away with it, which was all the really mattered.

He wasn't entirely sure getting off scot-free was a good thing though. It worried him to learn that violence had brought him such peace, and that something was urging him to continue. It felt like he was being pulled apart from the inside. On the winning side was common sense, preaching how it would do nothing to help the situation. Unfortunately the other half, praising him for his work on the T.V. and encouraging him to retry and perfect his methods, was growing harder to ignore. He wondered how long it'd be before he could no longer deny it, and what would happen when that day came. "Skippy, is everything okay?" Linda had asked, no doubt wondering why he was standing in the hall. The answer he wanted to give was obviously not the one she needed to hear, and that was what led him to his next in a long series of lies.

"Yeah, the T.V. in my room broke and the janitor's in there cleaning it up." He pressed off the wall and turned to face the woman, immediately spotting the grey squirrel standing behind her. He did his best to not look too frightened, but he could feel his jaw trying to fall to the floor and his eyes go wide, like headlights had flashed on in front of him. What really had him speechless was how similar she resembled his mother, the only difference being her fur color and tacky green hat and matching umbrella. She was such a perfect carbon copy that for a moment he thought he was seeing her ghost, a sure sign that his grief had progressed into complete madness. Luckily he regained what little common sense he believed he had left and came to the obvious conclusion that this was his aunt and temporary guardian. The boy could sense the nervousness that radiated off her, as visible as breath in winter. "Hello," he greeted, feeling the same anxiety.

"Hey," she replied.

"Skippy, this is your aunt Slappy." Linda explained, breaking the silence that had fallen. Skippy bit his tongue to keep from making some snide comment about how he'd already deduced that.

"I think the kid got that." Slappy remarked. The young squirrel glanced at her, wondering if she'd read his mind or if she was usually that tactless. He remained silent and compared her to the memory of the cartoon he'd seen. She was shorter and the curve of her hips had disappeared but nothing else had changed, not even the purse draped over her shoulder. Skippy could tell she was inspecting him just as much and it made him nervous, so much so that he felt the urge to escape her analytical eyes. He turned around and peeked into the room to get one last look at his handiwork before he left, a strange sense of pride washing over him as he witnessed the janitor sweeping bits of glass into a dustpan. Slappy, a fan of destruction and her curiosity piqued, wanted to have a look at the television herself. She walked around her nephew, careful not to bump or touch him in the slightest.

The television, its screen broken and shattered, was covered in bumps and welts. Having used countless mallets over the past few decades Slappy could instantly recognize its work, but while she could tell what tool was used she could not figure out exactly how. Skippy, only ten years old and having not attended a school like Acme Loo, should not have been able to grab one from hammerspace like an archtoon could. However, the signs pointed to him, from the amateurish and random placement of his hits to how the top of the television, obviously too high for him, went unscathed. She wanted to ask how he'd pulled it off, but decided it'd make for a better conversation if it was just between them on the car ride back to her home. Plus it would be a nice way to kill the silence that would no doubt fill the car during the two hour drive.

Linda, ever the cheerful person, continued to stand in the center of the hall. "Well, you two are free to go whenever you'd like. It was nice meeting you Skippy, I just wish it was under better circumstances." She held out her hand and Skippy, out of guilt for both yelling at her and breaking the television, shook it. "And Miss Squirrel?"

"Yeah?" Slappy answered, her eyes still glued on what she had labeled evidence of the impossible. She turned when no reply followed and was surprised to find the woman invading her personal space by quite a bit.

"I sincerely hope you made the right choice today. Skippy is in a very fragile place and he needs support, otherwise he may be as lost as his mother." She whispered all of this and took a step back. Both squirrels stared at her in confusion, Skippy wondering just what she had said about him and Slappy wondering where this seriousness vanished to when she was done with it.

_You and me both._ Slappy nodded and Linda left, no doubt back to her office to wait for the next unfortunate soul she'd be breaking horrid news to. Skippy felt nervous being left with the aunt he'd exchanged a total of one word with, but to his relief Slappy wasn't looking at him. That relief disappeared when he looked over to her, frightened to see her peering once again into his room. She took her eyes from his crime scene and looked down at him, suspicion visible in her eyes. Skippy, not a fan of the way she was staring at him, abruptly started walking down the hall, getting in distance before she could ask him questions he didn't have the answers to. This was obviously a temporary solution, buying him an extra few seconds. She would probably ask him about the television on the car ride back to Burbank, and short from jumping out of the vehicle there was no way he could avoid answering. He used those seconds to work on a story that painted him as a stupid and innocent kid.

If she was as smart and cunning as her cartoons had painted her then it wouldn't be long before she found out he was lying, but he wanted to get a few more sights etched into his brain before she returned him to that room. Slappy was both stunned and proud at his quick getaway, now seeing more than a bit of herself in the kid. She caught up with him in the parking lot, where he waited to see if she'd point out which car belonged to her or if she'd drag him back into the building and save the money on gas later. She tipped her head to the luxurious little vehicle that was practically glowing in the sunlight, the one that looked like it belonged to some rich teenager and not an older woman. He had wrongly assumed she'd driven one of the more rust-covered models, not the shiny red Viper that was horrendously parked and taking up two spaces. Skippy held back his surprise and marched to the car, jumping inside. "In a hurry, huh?" she asked.

"You'd be too if you were stuck here for three days." He answered, relieved to find that her first question wasn't about the television. Maybe he'd overestimated his aunt? Perhaps she wasn't as smart as he'd originally assumed, or maybe she was just being practical. He was small and well-behaved, most of the time anyway. Anyone who knew him would jump to his defense and vouch for him if his character was ever questioned. The problem was Slappy didn't know him, nothing outside of his name and age anyway. She was uninhibited and could think practically which usually meant trouble for whoever committed a crime. He blew that thought off, certain he was just overthinking it, and leaned his head back onto the leather seat. Slappy reversed the car and glanced over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking lot.

"Ready to head to Burbank, Skip-o?"

"Don't call me Skip-o," he replied, unable to hide his detest at the nickname. The young squirrel closed his eyes, intent on sleeping the entire ride away. Slappy had no intention of keeping him for very long and he had no desire to speak or interact with her for that short amount of time, including the time they'd be trapped in the vehicle. Why waste time getting to know someone you'll only know for a month anyway? And it wasn't like she deserved to get to know him now, only after they were forced to meet. The boy didn't expect sleep to come easy, but the car seat was much more comfortable than the couch, and even with the wind blowing in his face he managed to doze off quickly, leaving Slappy to gather her own thoughts in peace.

The grey squirrel looked over at him, trying to picture how something so small and innocent looking could have torn apart the television with such fierce blows. Was this even the first thing he took a mallet to or was it just the most recent? Skippy's capabilities should have made her turn the car around, but it did the exact opposite. Slappy became more and more relaxed at the thought of looking after an archtoon, actually beginning to feel a connection with the kid. Who better to teach him how to control himself and utilize his true potential than her, a well-seasoned cartoon veteran? Finding something in common somehow managed to change her entire outlook on the situation, and as she pulled onto the highway she glanced at the soundly sleeping squirrel with a newfound ease. Despite that, Slappy could tell Linda was right. This was a very critical situation and screwing up meant more than just failing herself. Skippy was a grieving child whose emotions could easily get the better of him. That was bad enough without adding in the unnatural talents he possessed, but those made it a whole other ball game.

Slappy drove down the highway in silence, nervously glancing at her nephew every few minutes from the corner of her eyes. It was obvious from his appearance that he hadn't done much for the past few days except for sleeping and crying. His fur was unkempt and tangled in several places, his tail had lost its poof, and she could almost see his ribcage under the fur, which probably explained the constant rumbling from his stomach. She vowed to make him eat at the next food joint she saw, even if it was under his constant protest. Anything was better than staring at this pile of bones and fur clumped up in the seat beside her. Slappy may have just met him, but seeing her nephew in such a bad state was still a hard sight.

Skippy began to stir, stretching and yawning as he awoke. "We there?" he asked between a yawn, rubbing at his eyes and stretching his arms skyward.

"Not yet Skip . . . kid, were still lookin' at an hour 'til we get home." Skippy mumbled something under his breath, probably about how it wasn't his home they were driving to. Slappy sighed, hoping he wasn't going to remain as bitter and predictable during his entire stay with her. He pressed his elbow against the door and rested his head in his hand, watching the scenery as it sped by. The older squirrel began debating on whether to confront him on the television yet, knowing that it would it be a great waste of time. No doubt it would provide her a few minutes of amusing denials from him about how he was only a kid and didn't have the abilities to pull it off. "So that television back in the room, the one that was smashed up," Skippy tensed up at the mention of the smashed electronic, unintentionally confirming her suspicions. "How'd you do it?"

"Me?" he replied in a genuinely astounded tone, clearly surprised to learn that she'd figured it out. Had he managed to keep it up Slappy might've believed she was mistaken about him, but he lost it when he began acting innocent. "But did you see it? It was nothing but smithereens!" he explained unconvincingly, turning from the window and looking over at her. The direct eye contact was as uncomfortable as they both imagined it would be, immediately starting to stare forward at the long stretch of road instead of each other. "I'm just a kid, how could I have done something like that?" Slappy could sense joy in his voice, shallowly hidden underneath the feigned shock and awe routine.

"Careful kid, your pride in your work is giving you away." She explained, chuckling a bit. Skippy hadn't expected such a reaction and was caught off-guard, wondering what she found funny. She obviously knew what he had done, but for some reason she didn't seem to mind. She hadn't turned around to take him back to that cell of a room, which was surprising enough without the sense that he wasn't the only one feeling proud of his actions. "I know mallets Skippy, and that was definitely the work of one."

"Where could I have gotten a mallet?" he asked, certain he'd win the argument if he continued asking questions she couldn't provide logical answers to. Despite being dangerously close to correctly guessing what'd happened, there was no way Slappy could honestly believe he had found a mallet, let alone pull it from behind his back. Sure, she could easily have done it herself, but he was just a child, incapable of performing such a feat on his own. Skippy slowly felt a building pain in his right palm and looked to see what the cause was, finding his fingers clenched tightly in fear and digging into the center of his hand. He uncurled his fingers and started scratching at the leather seat to keep it occupied, the wind whipping at the car providing a cover to the noise.

Slappy shook her head, disappointed in his poor acting skills. "What's say we stop and get some food, huh? We need to talk about how we're going to get this under control." Slappy pulled onto the closest off-ramp before Skippy could even form an answer, cutting off a few cars that started honking as they passed by. Slappy instinctively lifted her left hand to them, ready to extend her finger and flick them off. She stopped after remembering the presence of a young and impressionable boy sitting beside her, who had already shown his violent side. Her fist reluctantly turned into a wave of apology as the cars continued to honk, one even giving her the gesture she had originally wanted to use as it passed them by. She pretended not to notice and glanced at Skippy, hoping he hadn't seen it or, if he had, wouldn't question the meaning behind it.

Unfortunately the young squirrel was returning it right back at the man, evoking a strange mix of laughter and disapproval from the grey squirrel. Slappy tried not to laugh, but it broke through her resistance and left her in a small fit of hysterics. Her left hand dropped from the air and returned to the wheel, steading her grip before they got into an accident. His jaw dropped when he heard her laugh, how similar it was to his mother's own laughter. Without warning his eyes started to water, tears on the verge of spilling. He furiously rubbed at them, not wanting Slappy to notice. He had cried in front of enough people for his lifetime, and her pity would only make him angrier. "Stop," he said, crossing his arms and turning back to the window of the car. Slappy's laugher died, along with a bit of her joy, and she continued searching for a place to stop and eat.

* * *

**A/N: **Alright, let's keep the ball rolling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fate**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Despite her original belief, Slappy found that her nephew was very eager to get food into his stomach, quickly tearing into anything set down in front of him with the ferociousness of a Doberman. "Slow down before ya choke kiddo," she recommended. Skippy looked up at her, a burger clutched in his hands as if he was afraid someone would try to separate him from it. "I said "kiddo", not that which shall not be uttered." He quickly returned to his food, taking several large bites out of the burger before ripping off the plastic lid and straw from his drink and chugging a good half of it. He put the cup down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, searching for the next thing he could swallow. "Did they feed you in there?" the grey squirrel asked, head resting on her fist as she continued to watch in horrified amusement. Skippy nodded, grabbing a handful of fries and shoving them into his mouth. Despite the ghastly sight, the older squirrel enjoyed the seeing him acting less . . . angst filled, even if it was at the cost of a few dozen pretty pennies.

Skippy swallowed and, needing a breath of air, dropped his arms to his side, leaving the little food that had survived the first round. The young squirrel had to admit that a full stomach had him feeling better, and had even gotten him out of his head. It was also a breath of relief to know that he didn't need to smash a television to calm down, but he did learn that this method could draw just as much of a crowd. Adults and children were staring at him in what was obviously disgust. He sunk into his seat and avoided making eye contact with anyone, waiting for them to move on. Slappy, noticing this odd display of embarrassment, turned to the people and shooed them away, telling them to mind their own business. It was a bit flattering, and Skippy had to admit it made him slightly less resentful of his aunt. "So, if you know I smashed the television, why aren't you taking me back? Or are you doing that after you feed me?" he asked, realizing he no longer wanted the uncomfortable silence that was unavoidable with pouting.

"But I thought you were just a kid, one without a mallet on hand?" she smugly replied, taking a swig from her own drink. Skippy grimaced, forgetting in his feral eating that their conversation never officially reached a verdict on what had happened. He glanced down at his feet, not long enough to reach the ground from the high seat of the booth. Now he knew why she hadn't taken him back yet. She was still iffy on whether he'd actually done it, but now that he had admitted to it she was probably going to turn the car in the other direction and drive him back. "I'm not taking you back, and I'm not angry." She explained, earning a confused glance from the unexpectedly relieved boy. It wasn't that he wanted to stay with her, but he definitely couldn't spend any more time in that crappy room. "I would've done the same thing if I was you, probably a lot more too. What I want to know is how you did it?" she leaned forward on the table, a sign of her curiosity. Skippy's back straightened as he sat up and moved his head a few inches away from hers.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever smashed something like that before?"

"No," he shook his head and reached for another fry, finding the box empty when he came up empty handed. Slappy pushed her own order over to him, which he reluctantly accepted. "That was the first time."

"Good, so how'd you get the mallet?"

He debated on whether or not he should tell her, after all this was one of his longest and most well-kept secrets, one he was afraid would scare people away. He knew 'toons could produce mallets, but he'd never heard of a child doing it. Despite that, he was curious as to how someone would react if they found out, what questions they might ask or answers they could give. Was he supposed to be able to do this, to pull things from out of nowhere like Bugs Bunny or his aunt? Deciding that she might be able to offer up some answers, he sighed and summed it up. "I reached behind my back and grabbed it, like you do." He demonstrated by eating the fries and placing his arm behind his back, but as he expected it came up empty when he pulled it back. Slappy looked at him, confused. The brown squirrel sensed the next question and offered a quick explanation before she could ask. "I can only do it when I'm mad."

"So who taught you how to do it?" she asked, sad to learn that his mother had let someone else teach him the things she easily could have.

"No one, I just kind of learned it myself." Slappy nodded and went silent. The brown squirrel sat there for a few moments, waiting for her next question. He picked up what remained of his burger and finished it off while she remained quiet, obviously deep in thought. Slappy was aware that it wasn't unheard of for a toon to develop minor hammerspace abilities without proper teaching, but even then it was usually in their adult years, far too late to utilize its full potential. Rare cases had been reported about some developing in teen years, but never had a toon as young as Skippy been able to use hammerspace, at least not without proper teaching and guidance, not to mention the outrageously priced schools they had to be sent to. Skippy somehow had access to this ability without prior training, and all on his own. Sure, it still evaded him by only working when he was angry but it was really there, ready to be honed and nourished and strengthened. Of course it wasn't her decision to make on whether or not he was trained to be an archtoon, it was his, and the next and last question followed.

"Do you want to learn more?"

Skippy had been staring out the window when the question was asked and quickly turned to her with a puzzled look on his face. "What do you mean?"

"Do you want to learn how to grab that mallet, or anything else, from hammerspace whenever you wanted? I can teach you how if you'd like."

Skippy paused, wondering what the catch or endgame was. After learning about his large breakdown, she wanted to teach him how to use a mallet whenever he felt like it? Either this was a trick or Slappy was crazy beyond all belief. Maybe she was using reverse-psychology on him, or trying to get him in trouble? He looked around the joint, glancing at the people behind the counter as they grilled fries and returned change. In a ridiculously paranoid state, he wondered if they were in on it, or maybe one of the dozen people sitting at tables and booths, eating food and talking amongst themselves. Then again, perhaps there was no "perhaps" about it. Maybe she was just offering to be nice, as she had been for the past few hours by buying him food and not yelling at him for smashing that television. With her actions grouped and summarized Skippy realized the true motivations behind the offer, as well as the unusual level of nicety she was displaying. It was the same reason she had taken him in until he could be placed with a foster family, and why she couldn't look him in the eyes for more than a second or two at a time.

She felt guilty.

This was her way of easing that guilt, of making sure she didn't feel too bad when she sent him away in a month or two. Slappy was looking for a way to ease her conscious, and he expected he'd see a lot more of her faux compassion over the next few weeks. That thought alone almost made Skippy turn down the offer in anger, but the thought of being able to grab his mallet, or whatever else he wanted, whenever he felt like it was ultimately what led him to swallow his pride and accept. "Yes, I'd like to learn how." Skippy replied, imagining what he'd be capable of after a few sessions with her. "But if this is some way of trying to get me to forgive you about getting rid of me soon, know that I will never forgive you, or consider you a part of my family." With that cold statement, and a small fire in his eyes, the squirrel grabbed his tray of ravaged food and slid out of the booth, walking to the trash can by the door and dumping the wrappers and containers into it. Slappy stayed seated, stunned by what he had said. "You coming?" he asked from the entrance on the other side of the room.

Slappy nodded and slid out of the booth, disregarding her tray and leaving it at the table. She was impressed at how Skippy had correctly inferred her intentions, now certain that his intelligence was probably what contributed to his hammerspace ability. Still, she'd hoped he'd been more grateful about her offer, even if it was for selfish purposes. The grey squirrel followed her nephew out the door and towards the car, silent as the grave. It wasn't often people could predict Slappy or her plans, and somehow Skippy, naïve to her world and only a child, was able to do just that. She hoped he wasn't as stubborn as she was and that, after some time, he'd come around and find a small part that wanted to forgive her. The young squirrel hopped in the car and buckled his seatbelt while thoughts of what he'd soon be able to do making him crack a small smile. They drove back onto the ramp to the highway, continuing the trek to her home.

They exchanged no words for the rest of the drive, letting the radio keep the silence at bay. They reached Burbank a few minutes after the sun had sunken and Skippy was quickly amazed by all the shops and lights that lit up the streets as the sun had started to set, unprepared for the busyness of the city. He had been raised in a small town his entire life and had never seen so much activity going on at the same time, where people were stumbling in and out of bars and shops, standing in lines to get into music-blasting clubs, making out with their girlfriends or boyfriends on the sidewalk, and generally having irresponsible fun. From his introduction Skippy quickly pegged California as a place of reckless and wild enjoyment, one that he imagined he could have a little fun in after learning some new tricks from Slappy. "So do you live in some high-class penthouse, or a mansion?" he asked, speaking for the first time in the last hour.

"Close," Slappy vaguely answered, making a quick turn into a park entrance. For a second he swore he saw a smile form, but if it had been there it was gone in a flash. The young squirrel glanced in the rearview mirror as the lights and buildings moved farther and farther away. He hoped to see them again soon, finding there vibrancies oddly soothing. "We're here." Slappy exclaimed, the car slowing to a stop. Skippy glanced up from the mirror, expecting to see some large and dazzling mansion gate or highrise building. "Home; no place like it, huh kid?" she exclaimed, removing her keys from the ignition and unclipping her seatbelt. Skippy looked at her as if her hair was on fire, trying to speak. All that came out were some squeaks and non-sense syllables. "You coming?" she asked, stepping out of the vehicle. "Do I need to bring out a blanket or –"

"You live in a tree?" the young squirrel finally managed to ask, fumbling with his seatbelt. Indeed a tree was resting directly in front of them, complete with a few windows and a blue door cut into the front.

"Well I am a squirrel," she replied, watching him jump out of the car. "Why, were you expecting something different?"

"But you said . . ." Skippy abruptly paused, deciding that there was no point in arguing over a temporary home. In a month he'd be watching it disappear in the rearview mirror of a car just as he had with the streets of Burbank. "At least tell me it's bigger on the inside?" He jumped out of the car and slammed the door shut before passing Slappy as he approached the front door.

"A lot of archtoons have hammerspace installed into their homes, so thankfully yes, yes it is." She replied, unlocking the door. Skippy poked his head inside the house, as if a trap was set up on the other side waiting to spring the second he stepped foot inside. "I'm pretty sure it won't bite kid." The old squirrel stepped past him and flicked a light switch on the wall beside her. The living room was directly in front of him, decorated with posters and awards of Slappy herself. Skippy found it extremely vain, but figured that if he'd accomplished as much and earned as many he'd display them too. There was a red couch resting in the center of a large rug colored like a target, with red and white circles forming a repeating pattern. There was also a pink couch tucked over in the corner and a small television pressed against the wall, a VCR and some tapes lying on top. There was an entrance leading into another room, a closet with a few locks and latches keeping it closed, and a set of wooden stairs ascending to the top of the tree. "You can come in whenever ya'd like." Slappy placed her umbrella in a stand behind the door and walked into the other room without so much as a second look at the nervous young lad.

Skippy stepped inside and glanced around, taking closer looks at the posters and awards. Slappy had been quite the star back in her day and it excited him to think that she would be the one to teach him how to get a better handle on his abilities. He might not have liked her, but there was no denying she was extremely talented, especially when she had so many shiny cups and figurines. Maybe he'd be a cartoon star like her when he was older! The brown squirrel suddenly realized a slight hint of idolization forming towards his aunt and quickly pushed the thought away, repeating to himself that being like her wasn't what he wanted. His attention turned from the posters to the closet, each of its locks raising his curiosity to another unbearable level. "What's in here?" he asked, twisting the knob despite knowing it wouldn't open. Slappy poked her head out of the other room to see what he was referring to.

"Nothing," she stated, disappearing back into the other room.

"Awful lot of security for nothing!" he yelled, followed immediately by an exaggerated sigh. The young squirrel walked away from the closest, his eyes glued to it like it had formed a mocking face. He told himself it was probably just the awards she couldn't fit anywhere or some other boring thing, but he knew that with all those locks it had to be something better, something exciting. He passed through the doorway and walked into what was obviously the kitchen, complete with an oven, table, sink, and fridge, all in the colours of blue and brown. That was, everything except the curtains over the sink, which were an odd choice of orange with green polka-dots. Slappy was standing by the table with her back to him, listening to the messages on her answering-machine. The boy paid little attention to what was being said, but could tell by his aunt's reaction that it wasn't the best of news. Unaware of his presence, the grey squirrel uttered a curse at some guy named Manny before groaning. It didn't concern him and he continued exploring, as if he was a cat that was just brought home from a shelter. The simile was a bit too accurate for Skippy's comfort and he quickly let out his own muffled curse, catching the attention of his aunt.

"Uh, sorry," she apologized, mistaking his curse as being her own fault. He didn't bother correcting her, instead turning on his heels and walking back into the living room, seeing everything of importance in the kitchen. "Would you like me to give you a tour?" she asked, a hopeful smile forming on her face as she followed behind him.

"Sure, let's start with this." Skippy stepped in front of the closest, a look of disappointment in his eyes as he already knew the answer. Still, it never hurt to keep trying, and a part of him also wanted to annoy her with his constant badgering.

"It's my explosives closet; I keep a lot my more dangerous weapons in there." She said, surprising him. Slappy laughed and rubbed the top of his head, causing him to swat her hand away in discomfort. She didn't seem to mind having her affectionate display rebuffed, only continuing to smirk. "You're stubborn, which is good. People seem to think it's a bad thing, but it's not. It's just another word for persistence, and both will get you far in life kid. Just make sure you never cross a line because it can also hold you back." She yawned and stretched, turning to look at the clock on her VCR. "Ten, what's say we head to bed, that way we can start on your training bright and early tomorrow?" Slappy walked to the front door and re-locked it, then stood at the base of the stairs and turned back to him. "Coming?"

Skippy took one last look at the closet before trudging over to her, yawning. He didn't like being so compliant but he was tired, plus he was eager to start his lessons tomorrow, wondering what it'd be like to grab a bomb from behind his back and just fling it at the nearest source of annoyance. She let him go up first, turning the lights to the downstairs off once he reached the top. "So which room is mine?" he asked, eyes moving between the three doors in the hallway. He moved away from the stairs as Slappy reached the top, waiting for her to point out which room he'd be spending the majority of the next month in. She walked to the first door on the left and opened it. Skippy looked inside and, to his confusion, found himself looking at the bathroom. "Uh, yeah, it's very nice." He looked up at her, giving a thumbs up and an intentionally see-through smile.

"Yeah, and it's also the first stop on your way to dreamland." She commented, shoving him into the room. "Your fur is so dirty that I can't tell if brown is your actual color, so hop in the shower and clean yourself up a bit, okay?" and before he could answer she closed the door, leaving him to gather his thoughts. "Towels are in the closet!" she shouted.

"Oh thanks, I never would have figured that out!" he shouted back in the heaviest sarcasm he could muster. Skippy rolled his eyes, certain that Slappy was just being melodramatic, and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, horrified to find that she had a point. His fur was tangled and knotted in some places, flattened and oily in others. He cringed at the thought of brushing them all out, but knew it had to be done. Summoning all the courage he could muster, the squirrel opened the closest and pulled out a green towel and matching comb, laying them on the sink before turning on the shower. Despite his reluctance to yank a comb through his fur, the thought of a hot shower did sound enjoyable and so did the idea of getting all the grime and scum off his body. Skippy locked the door and jumped into the shower, soaking his head.

Slappy was standing in the doorway of Skippy's room when he walked out of the bathroom, his fur shining and groomed. "Hey, have you seen my nephew Skippy? He's about yay high," she held her hand at the tip of his head. "He has a big poufy tail, sharp buckteeth and a frown permanently carved into his face." Skippy looked at her, as usual still not amused. Some miracles even a hot shower couldn't work, and one of those was making his aunt humorous. "So this is your room." She said, uncomfortable with his silence. She urged him inside and gave him a small tour. "You've got a fireplace, a dresser, a nightstand, a lamp, a clean bed, warm blankets, and a nice view of the park from your window." Slappy was proud of how thoroughly she cleaned the room, finding no specks of dust or dirt anywhere. Even Skippy, in his bad mood, had to admit how nice this room looked, she was sure of it. The older squirrel turned to look at him, expecting some slight speck of amazement.

"Nice, I'm sure I'll miss it when I leave." He walked to the bed and sat down on the edge, glad to find it soft and comfy. Slappy sighed, wishing that her nephew would just focus on the here and now rather than the future. Skippy lifted the covers and scooted under them, resting his head on the pillow. He looked over to his aunt as she stood by the window, noticing the look of sadness and depression that quickly passed over her face. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow kiddo." She said, walking to the door. The shower must have done more than just clear his mind because he had a strange feeling of guilt shoot through him, urging him to say something to her before she went to bed. Slappy had been nothing but nice, and while it may have been to ease her own guilt he could tell there was genuine concern for him.

"Uh, Slappy?" he said moments before she could close the door.

"Yeah kid?"

_Thanks, for the hot meal and warm shower and comfy bed. _"Never mind," he said, rolling onto his side and facing the window.

"Right, sleep tight Skippy." With that she turned off his light and closed the door, off to her own room for the night. Despite the strong urge to thank her, the resentment he held towards her was still too large to be silenced, even if it was only for a second. He sighed and started tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position. After a few minutes he just sat up, jumping out of the bed and walking over to the window. There were no stars out, an odd sight for the squirrel. At his old home he could see thousands of stars, all bright and shining as they surrounded the moon. That wasn't to say the view from here was all bad, far from it actually. The neon lights from the city were visible in the distance and the park had a dozen or so streetlamps traveling down its sidewalk, making a random and curving trail of yellow and orange dots. He spent a few minutes pacing back and forth in front of the window, cursing himself for the new found empathy towards Slappy. Suddenly there came a rapping at his door, no doubt his aunt. "Can I come in?" she asked from behind the door.

"Sure," he answered, ceasing his frantic pacing. Slappy opened the door and turned on the light, surprised to see him out of bed. She was wearing a pink nightgown and sleeping cap, holding something that resembled a picture frame in her hand.

"I had this on the dresser in my room and thought you might like it." She walked across the room and handed it to him. Skippy glanced from her to the photo, feeling the wind get knocked out of him when he saw his mother. "Sorry I don't have anything more recent, but it's the last photo she ever sent me." Skippy stared at the picture, tracing her outline with his finger. He hadn't realized how foggy his memory of her had become, his mind so clouded by negativity the last few days that he barely recognized her. Everything about her seemed strange, from the look in her eyes to the way she was smiling. He could feel tears forming behind his eyes and did his best to fight them, sensing that it was a losing battle. "I thought you'd like to keep it in your room and make the place a little less empty. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, and I do mean it this time." She rubbed his head and Skippy . . . did nothing to stop her. Slappy deserved that one, just as she deserved what followed.

"Thank you," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. The grey squirrel stiffened, clearly taken by surprise.

"Yeah, no problem Skippy," she gave him a smile that resembled the one in the picture and walked back out of the room, closing the door behind her. Skippy gulped and pressed his back against the wall, sliding to the floor. He brought the picture close to his chest and hugged it, beginning to sob as his resistance crumbled. Slappy stood outside, her ear pressed to the door as he continued. It was heartbreaking and she found her own tears were forming at the very thought of him crying. She wasn't sure how to handle this, whether she should head back in and comfort him or return to her own room and let him shed his tears in privacy. She chose the latter and trudged to her room down the hall, managing to hold back her tears.

The Squirrels didn't get much sleep that night.

* * *

**A/N: **The plot is getting thicker, thickity thick thick thick-er!


	5. Chapter 5

**Fate**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Skippy hadn't gotten much rest, having spent most of the night staring at the picture of his mother and reevaluating his notions on his aunt. What once was pure anger had now turned into apathy, trying its best not to flip between understanding and hatred. It was frustrating to not have a clear picture of how he felt towards her, to have misplaced that anger and bitterness he had originally felt. She seemed friendly and related to him emotionally, showing compassion and understanding towards his freak-out on the television instead of fear and distrust, stating she would have acted the same. So if she was truly this kind and sympathetic, why had his mother hid her from him? Sure, the older squirrel was a bit crude and had obviously cleaned up her act in his presence, but she didn't seem like the kind of person his mom would avoid, especially to the point of lying about her existence.

He woke up on the floor, having fallen asleep there a few hours earlier. The young squirrel stretched and yawned, the bright sunlit room making him squint until his eyes could adjust. He rose from the ground, feeling all the aches and pains that came with sleeping on a hard wooden floor, and slumped to the bathroom. The kid glanced at the one door in the hall he had yet to see the inside of, guessing it was Slappy's room. He wondered if it was decorated in as much memorabilia as the living room, filled with posters and awards from wall to wall. He laughed at the thought and entered the bathroom. The young squirrel looked at his reflection in the mirror, glad to see something resembling a healthy being staring back. It was a major improvement over his reflection from yesterday night, save for the bags that had formed under his eyes. He took a step back and inspected the rest of his body, surprised to see just how skinny he had become over the past few days. Skippy placed his paw on the ribcage he could now see under his fur, feeling each bone and the ridges between them.

He combed his fur back into place and stepped out into the hall, tired of looking at himself in the mirror. Standing in the hall, Skippy wondered what he should do with himself next. His room was too empty to clean, and he had remade the bed during the sleepless hours of the night. Waking Slappy was a possibility as he was eager to start the training she had promised him last night, but he wasn't prepared to face her yet. He still wanted a few more minutes to figure out what he felt towards her, if she wasn't already awake and downstairs that was. His stomach rumbled, answering his question with ease. Skippy walked down the stairs, pausing on the last step to look and see if his aunt had wakened yet. He saw nothing but an empty living room and jumped from the last step onto the floor, proceeding into the kitchen. He passed the locked closest on his way and ran his hand against its smooth finish, imagining the fun that rested on the other side of the door. The thought was pushed away by hunger and he continued through the doorway. He was starving and, supervision or not, he was going to get his worth out of having a kitchen on hand. First things first: he needed to see what he was working with. The young squirrel climbed onto the countertop with ease and began rummaging through the cupboards, searching for ingredients.

Slappy hadn't gotten much rest, having spent most of the night trying to forget the sound of her nephew's crying. The reaction wasn't what she expected and she certainly didn't set out to make him cry. All she wanted was to give him a picture of his mom to brighten him up, but it came back at her in a way she hadn't imagined. A better guardian would've planned for that scenario, would've been prepared, and wouldn't have been afraid to try and comfort him when they heard sobbing. The grey squirrel got out of bed, feeling all the aches and pains that came with old age, and trekked down the hall to the bathroom. She passed Skippy's room on the way and noticed it was empty, the bed appearing untouched. _He wouldn't run away, would he? _She started to panic and did her own running, charging to the bathroom and knocking on the door before bursting in. It was the same kind of empty as his room, clean and untouched. Slappy ran down the stairs faster than she knew she could and looked at the television, hoping to see her nephew watching early morning cartoons in her chair. Seeing it was empty she opened the front door and poked her head out, trying to ignore the blindingly bright sunlight as she called his name. "Skippy! Skippy!" she yelled, trying her best to spot him amongst the early morning tracksuit joggers. She reached for her car keys, not sure if he was still in the area or how long ago he'd left; she just knew she wouldn't stop looking until she found him.

"Yes?" Skippy answered, causing Slappy to yelp and nearly jump to the ceiling in surprise. She turned to see him standing in the kitchen doorway, a plate of pancakes in his hands. The brown squirrel gave her a glance that suggested he was questioning her sanity before walking into the living room. He turned on the television and sat on the carpet a few feet away, resting the plate on his lap as he started eating.

She closed the door and rested her head against it, trying to sooth her rapidly beating heart. She was certain that he'd ran off overnight, that he was as far from here as his legs could carry him. She added that mistake to the list of reasons she wasn't cut out for taking him on permanently, sighing as the list grew a bit longer. "You could've left a note on my door, I nearly had a stroke."

"I walked down the stairs, not to China, and if you were really so concerned about me then I'd probably be here for more than a few weeks." Had he been aware of the sting his comment caused her he would have apologized, but his back was to her and he missed the look of hurt that flashed on her face. Despite the confliction he had towards Slappy, the fact that she was only taking him in temporarily still left him quite bitter.

"You make those yourself?" Slappy asked, trying to ignore his snide remark. He nodded, eyes fixed on the television. Sitting on that carpet, performing one of his oldest rituals, it almost made the world feel right again, almost made him feel happy. Slappy walked by him and into the kitchen, expecting a large mess of flour and broken eggs. To her surprise the kitchen was still in one spotless piece, the only change from last night being the plate of pancakes on the table, still warm from being made. The pans had been cleaned, the oven was off, the milk and eggs were back in the fridge, and the bags of flour and sugar placed right where they belonged in the cupboard. Skippy obviously knew how to clean up after himself, not leaving a trace behind. "Are you really hungry enough to eat the rest of these?"

"I didn't know if you'd want any, so I made a few extra!"

Slappy had to shake her head in disbelief, "You made me breakfast?" she asked.

Skippy bit his lip and tried to think of some excuse, not wanting to admit that he was on the fence about how to feel towards her. "They're so I don't owe you for bringing me that picture last night." He explained, satisfied with the answer.

"Oh, well you didn't have to do anything for that."

"I did," he cleaned his plate and brought it to the kitchen. Slappy was seated at the table, eating the food with what appeared to be large enthusiasm.

"Did you put walnuts in these?" she asked between bites. Skippy nodded and took his dish to the sink, washing it while standing on the tip of his toes. Slappy watched in curiosity, wondering if he was really this cleanly or if he just didn't want her to hold anything over him, like cleaning up after him. "You know I haven't had walnut pancakes since I was a kid. My dad use to make them for me and your mom, but they were never this good. You got some talent Skip-O." Slappy's eyes widened and she immediately apologized. "Sorry, that just slipped out. Won't happen again, promise." Skippy was glad his back was to her as he stood at the sink, as it saved him the embarrassment of letting her see how little he cared about her using that nickname, especially after following the compliment.

The brown squirrel dried the dish and laid it on the countertop before returning to the living room and plopping down in front of the television, analyzing every scene and imitating it in his mind. He never thought he could develop his talents beyond fetching a mallet, but now that Slappy had informed him otherwise he was dedicated to learning everything. Not just hammerspace or physic manipulation, he wanted to know everything that a toon was capable of. Cartoons were no longer strictly for amusement, in fact being his chore and responsibility. Every now and then he'd find his hand drawn to his back, hoping that he'd feel the handle of his mallet in the grip of his fingers. Whenever it came back empty, which was always, he'd feel a shred of disappointment wash over him. "When do we start my training?" he shouted into the kitchen.

"Let me hit the shower and get out of my pajamas, then we'll get right on it." His imagination began bursting with notions of how amazing he'd be, of how quickly he'd get the handle on the tricks and routines of cartoons. He pictured himself, standing atop a high pillar as others cheered his name, saying that there was no way he could lose all of them. He imagined never being told that he wasn't in control of his life, of forgetting what it felt like to be helpless. No need for temporary homes or guardians, or horrible food and uncomfortable couches. He'd use his new abilities to get himself everything he deserved and more, and then he'd finally have a lasting feel of joy and happiness, one that couldn't be taken away from him.

Time crawled by and he found himself trying to keep busy, looking over his aunt's awards. There was something exciting about all of them, about knowing that the woman who'd won all these awards was the one to train him. The words "best" and "greatest" were written on all of them, and the dates went as far back as the fifties. Skippy walked over to the stairs and listened for the shower, seeing if it had stopped yet. To his delight it had and he prepared for her to come downstairs and teach him the amazing secrets she had learned over the many years she'd been active. He tried to sit down so he wouldn't appear too eager, but he found that sitting down actually made his feet lust for movement, bouncing as they hung off the couch.

Slappy walked down the stairs to find her nephew sitting upside down on the couch, his head hanging off the end with his feet in the air. "Comfy?" she asked, putting on her green hat. Skippy didn't answer, instead flipping off the couch and landing on his feet. "Yeah yeah, we're ready." She said, answering his question before he could even ask it. Her hand reached out to rub his head and he considered leaning back or shooing it away as he'd done earlier, but felt that learning how to grab his mallet whenever he wanted to was a pretty great reason to suffer through it. To his surprise Slappy's hand just hovered over his head until dropping back to her side, leaving an uncomfortable stillness that lasted for a moment but felt like an eternity.

Two hours later, all of which he considered a major waste of time, and he still had no grasp of hammerspace. Slappy didn't live up to his expectation either, giving him a speech on patience and clearing his mind instead of providing useful assistance. And when he was frustrated, when he could feel the mallet in his hand, she stopped him. "You can't always count on being angry when you need that thing. What if you're in a pinch and confused, or scared?" she asked. He hated not having a response to that question, even if it was rhetorical. The boy, having grown tired of the breathing exercises and the impossible task of clearing his mind, threw his arms up in exasperation. Slappy didn't seemed surprised by this, in fact she hadn't shown much emotion since they started. She hadn't appeared as flustered as he did, or tired, or even bored, just looking on in silence with a blank face and her arms crossed.

"I've gotten nowhere in the last hour, and now my hand feels like it's attached to my back!" he whined, walking to and collapsing on the couch.

"You expect it was gonna be easy?" Slappy asked.

"I expect a little help from my famous cartoon star of an au . . . guardian, but you just stood in the corner like a lazier Mr. Miyagi!" Skippy cupped his hands over his eyes and took a deep breath. "I mean, I'm doing everything you're telling me to. Why isn't it working?" he questioned, dragging his hands down his face.

Slappy laughed and approached the couch, "Kid, if it was that easy everyone would be an archtoon. Besides, ya can't expect results on your first day." She sat down, giving him a good cushion of space as she knew he'd want. "But hey, you're pretty smart. I'd place my money on you having it down in a week, tops."

"Stop!" Skippy shouted, jumping off the couch and taking a few steps back.

"Stop what?" she asked, slinking into the couch like a scolded child.

"Stop acting like I'm this great and amazing kid, stop acting like you're this unbelievably nice woman!" he gripped the fur on top of his head and pulled in exasperation. "You don't like me and believe it or not I'm fine with that, and I can even stomach that you're getting rid of me in a month. But stop pretending that you care about me or my mom because I'm starting to believe it and that makes the thought of being dragged away in a few weeks so much harder!" the young squirrel shouted, gritting his teeth and hoping that he was imagining the sensation of tears rolling down his flustered face. He rubbed at his eyes in an effort to hold back tears, but it only prolonged them by an extra second. "Why?" he asked, debating on whether he was trembling in fury or sadness. Slappy sat there, buried deep in the couch with a dumbfounded look and what appeared to be her own tears building up. "Why did my mom say you were dead? Why didn't you even send a letter or call? Why didn't you try to apologize and make up?" he asked, fighting the urge to run to his temporary room.

"You don't think I tried!" she shouted back, making him flinch in fear. This was the very first time she'd raised her voice at him and it proved more frightening than his stubborn and angry attitude could handle. "You think I was avoiding you two, that I hated you?" she asked. Suddenly Skippy felt like he was three inches tall, being scolded by an angry teacher, which was actually surprisingly accurate. He stared over Slappy's shoulder at nothing and nodded as his trembling subsided and the last of his tears fell. "Try the other way around. I sent cards every birthday and holiday and hoped they were being sent to the right address, called every Sunday for three months until she changed the number! Don't stand there and yell at me for not trying when I did the best I could." She rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face into her palms, sighing.

Skippy stood in place for a few minutes, trying to process the change in information that had formed his entire outlook on his aunt. His perspective was warping and the last of his spite fell away, leaving him with a cold, barren sensation. "I . . . I'm sorry, I just . . ." he didn't even know where the sentence was going or how to finish it, just that he wanted to justify his behavior. His shoulders and back slumped down as he felt a new weight of guilt pressing down on him, getting stronger with each passing second he was in the company of the aunt that had done nothing to him and yet received a large blunt of his hate. "Sorry," he mumbled, turning from the couch and walking to the wooden stairs by the door. He looked at her one last time before walking up to his room and gently closing the door.

Slappy lifted her head and found she was alone, left in silence to reflect on her past mistakes. There was a small relief in understanding why Skippy had been so angry at her, learning that for once it wasn't her fault a family member held a grudge against her, at least not entirely. She had believed that her sister, despite the ill feelings she held, would have given Skippy his birthday cards or have at least told him about her. Sadly this was not the case, instead pretending that she hadn't even existed. It gave Slappy an idea of just how much her sister despised her. The young squirrel was just a poor thing that got caught in a war he didn't even know of, trained to continue the battle after his mother passed like a good soldier. It wasn't nice to think ill of the dead, which is why Slappy only tried to make it as brief as she could. The grey squirrel rose from the couch and summoned the courage to walk up the steps and knock on Skippy's door.

The boy was laying spread out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to gather the strength to go back down and offer a better apology when Slappy knocked. "Can I come in?" she asked. A small urge whispered for him to say that it was her house and she could do whatever he wanted, but it was easily ignored in favor of the polite nature he had misplaced so long ago.

"Yes, come in." He said, sitting up and crossing his legs. Slappy opened the door rather slowly and lingered in the entrance before she walked in. "Hello," he greeted, watching her intently as she approached the bed. He had no idea what to expect from her, whether she was still angry or if she was as guilt stricken as he was.

"Can I sit?" she asked, pointing to his bed. He nodded and moved over to give her space. "Thanks," she said as she sat on the edge, her back to him. They both knew what had to follow the minor spat downstairs and each tried to force it out, too stubborn to quickly admit it.

"I'm sorry." They said in unison, so perfectly timed that it sounded rehearsed. They both nervously chuckled and felt a lot of the tension fall away, not all of it, but enough to carry on a civil conversation. "I'm sorry that I've been so . . . jerky, but I really thought . . . really believed that you –"

"That I didn't care about you or your mom?" she finished, knowing he had nodded in confirmation. "Well I did care about your mom, and I do care about you." She clarified, twisting her upper body to face him. "And I'm sorry I haven't been in your life up until now, but I did try, just not hard enough." Slappy sighed and turned her gaze to the perfectly neat blanket, unable to keep his gaze. He stayed silent for a moment until certain she had nothing more to add and then spoke up.

"So, why such a large fallout?" he asked, scooting closer to her on his knees. Slappy picked up her head and stared forward, as if reliving some memory. From the look on her face he could sense it wasn't a happy one, but one that stung of pain and remorse, and immediately felt regret for even asking. "I mean, it must've been pretty bad if she dropped all contact." He continued, knowing that sooner or later she'd have to answer him, and sooner was preferred.

"Well, first you gotta know that my parents hated me. I know it may sound like an exaggeration, but they really did. They never said it out loud, but I could tell from how they looked at me, from the way they shook their heads and the disappointment in their eyes when I told them I was going to be an archtoon. Mom didn't like my abilities because they weren't _ladylike_," Slappy stuck her tongue out at the word, showing her disgust at it. Skippy laughed at how ridiculous she appeared as a small smile formed across his face, one he didn't waste a second thought on. She nearly fell off the bed at the sound of his laughter and sight of a smile, but steadied herself. "And Dad didn't feel I deserved them, that I must've used some sort of steroid that I'm ninety percent sure doesn't exist. So I left home and moved here, looking for a job with Time Warner. I stayed in touch with your mom over the years, but I didn't share a single word with my parents. A few years later they died and I missed both funerals, which was the last straw for her."

Skippy looked over to the picture of his mother, wondering how he'd never notice such a large grudge buried beneath the surface. Slappy, possibly thinking the same, turned to the picture as well. "I'm starting to think stubbornness runs in the family." Skippy muttered.

"Yeah, it does." Slappy confirmed, turning back to him. "And it's strong enough to tear families apart."

The thought scared Skippy, who was starting to fear his own rising stubborn attitude would leave him alone and bitter. Clearly he needed to get a grip on his emotions, if he wasn't too broken already. Luckily the first step was being presented to him at that very moment in the form of his aunt, sitting just inches away and wearing a sad grin. "I'm sorry that I didn't ask you all this sooner, that I've been holding just as big a grudge as my mom did. You didn't deserve it, from either of us." The young squirrel's fingers clawed at the blanket in nervousness, creating a faint noise that grew between his pauses. "And a lot of that . . . anger, that hate, it was misplaced. I just . . . I'm so mad at her." His eyes glazed over in water and his voice began to crack, but he fought the embarrassment as best he could. "I hate myself for it, but I'm mad at her for leaving me alone. The worst part is I can't . . . I can't even tell her, can't get rid of it because everyone I yell at makes me feel guilty." Slappy placed a hand on his shoulder, sensing him flinch under it. "Sorry, not your fault," Skippy explained, taking several calming breaths and fighting back the tears.

Slappy patted his shoulder and suddenly rose from the bed, exiting the room and leaving the young kid with a puzzled glance. He wondered if that was really the end of the conversation, with him left dumbfounded on his bed. Was he supposed to stay and wait, or maybe follow after her? Uncertain, the young lad remained on the bed and turned from the door to the window on the opposite side of the room, staring out at the blue sky and the tips of buildings that poked over the tree tops. He felt calm and wanted to enjoy it for the short time it would last, knowing that moments like this weren't going to be presented to him too often from now on. His aunt, who he actually had to admit he felt a kinship with, had just treated him as an adult and gave him the full truth of her situation. Skippy had forgotten what it meant to get the entire story, not some painted version meant to make things more rose-colored than they were.

But with this came the fear that he was growing attached to her, and lately it seemed that ended with sad farewells. Suddenly the fact that he was going to be shipped off soon actually tore at him, more than he realized it could. _Okay, stop now. You don't have to hate her, but you don't have to love her either. _He scooted off the bed and approached the window, opening it to let some air into the stuffy room. The breeze hit his face and felt amazing, as did the sound of birds flying overhead and kids playing below. The sun was bright and everything felt like it belonged on some old family sitcom, where no one died and problems were solved in twenty precious minutes, minus the commercial breaks. He sighed and rested his head in the palm of his hand, feeling as the tranquility he knew would be brief left him and drifted out the window, looking for someone less bleak to infect. A thud behind him made the squirrel jump, hitting his head on the window. "Ow!" he said, rubbing at the bump he could feel form as he turned around.

Slappy stood in the center of the room, holding a mallet in her hand. His eyes moved from her to the object she'd placed on the ground, a golden chalice that he recognized as one of the many of her awards that decorated her living room. "Sorry Skippy, didn't mean to scare ya." She held out the mallet, offering it to him. He stepped over to her and grabbed the handle, a strange sense of discomfort washing over him as he held the tool. He was flooded with the memories of the last time he used one of these and felt guilt trickle from the handle into his hand. Not only was there that discomfort to deal with, but there was also the odd sensation of using a mallet that wasn't his own, that didn't feel specially made just for his hands. "I know it feels strange but you won't be using it for too long if that makes you feel better." Slappy explained, obviously aware of how he felt.

"What are we doing?" he asked, switching the strange mallet to his other hand to try and find more comfort.

"Holding onto anger can tear us apart Skippy, so work out your aggression out on this thing before it works itself out on you." She gestured to the small trinket in front of his feet. "Hey, this'll probably speed up your training. Two birds with one large blunt wooden instrument." She took a step back and crossed her arms, waiting for him to tear apart her award. Skippy gulped and looked down at the mallet in his hand, then turned his gaze to his aunt. The grey squirrel appeared uneasy standing by and allowing him the opportunity to destroy what was probably one of her most valuable possessions, even if it was one of many. For a moment he considered actually doing it, slamming the large object down and listening as it crunched or shattered or rang. He couldn't tell what it was made of so he didn't know how it would break, but that didn't matter because in the end it came down to one simple fact.

"I . . . can't break your award." He said, as surprised as she was. "I'm not really mad at you anymore. You did the best you could, but my mom was just too stubborn, like I've been the last few days. I'm over it now though, and this isn't something I want to do." He groaned and flipped the mallet around, holding the handle out to her.

"You sure kid?" Slappy asked, grabbing it from him. She opened the green purse that hung from her shoulder and placed the entire mallet in it with ease. Skippy wondered what else she kept in that purse.

He nodded, "Yeah, I think I've had a bit too much of anger, at least for a week or two." Skippy kneeled to the ground and picked up the chalice, adjusting it to inspect the engraving. "Best Female Cartoon Star of 1979? You were really willing to let me smash this?" he questioned, rising back up with the award in hand.

"Hey, you mean more to me than some crummy little award from a decade ago." She rubbed his head, "Well, a little more." She teased, turning to the door. Skippy followed her out of the room and down the stairs, the chalice gripped securely in his hand as he planned on returning it to its resting place.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, so the last chapter is next. I hate when things feel rushed but at the same time equally despise when things are dragged out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fate**

**Chapter 6**

* * *

"So what did you do after getting fired from Disney?" Skippy asked. After his notions towards Slappy had changed he found that she was a really cool and fun person with quite a few stories to tell. Every evening when they sat down for dinner she'd always keep the silence at bay with her tales. It was quite a sight, seeing her so full of youth as she'd reenact some of the scenes for him, demonstrating quick-changes and wild takes. One night he had actually jumped out of his table seat and tried to perform a quick-change with her but ended up tripping over his tail and landing on his face. Slappy helped him back up and dinnertime turned into an extra practice session as she walked him through the process. It was fun and he'd actually seen some results, but they ended up having to reheat dinner and sleep in the next morning due to staying up so late.

"Well, Warner Brothers called me up a week later and said they wanted me to come in and audition."

"Really, even after you put Mickey in traction?"

"Yep, in fact that's how they got a lot of their talent." Slappy chuckled and started eating.

Skippy stared down at the food, which didn't look very appetizing. His aunt may have had several similarities to his mom, but her cooking skills certainly weren't one of them. Still, he shoveled it down in what was probably an award-deserving performance, just so she wouldn't feel offended. "So, has Linda called today?" he asked between bites. Slappy shook her head and he resumed eating, but only for a second. "Anything in the mail from her?" he pressed.

"Kid, stop thinking about it or you're gonna drive yourself crazy."

Skippy dropped his fork onto the plate and gave up the charade of joyfully eating. "Oh right, let me just push that thought of being adopted and sent to some strange family out of my head. So how about the weather?" he asked with a cheery voice and smile.

"I'm sorry, but sometimes life isn't fair and we don't get what we want."

"You think I haven't learned that yet?" he asked, throwing his arms in the air.

"No, you know it better than anyone your age should, but when life changes there's nothing we can do about it but roll with it."

"This isn't life choosing, it's you. If you wanted to you could just call Linda back and tell her you'd like to keep me." Skippy jumped out of the chair and shoved it into the table before storming off to his room. Slappy winced as she heard his door slam shut upstairs. She briefly considered trying to continue eating, but found that her appetite was long gone. The grey squirrel laid her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands, trying to stay calm. Her nephew was a great kid, in fact he was the only kid she ever actually enjoyed being around. She wasn't sure if it was because he was an archtoon as well, or if it was because they were no strangers to tragedy, but she liked him. That was why she didn't yell back, why she didn't act upon her bitter nature. Above all though, it was why she knew she couldn't keep him.

He needed more than a grouchy, old, irresponsible squirrel to take care of him. He needed a father-figure to answer the questions she couldn't, a mom that actually knew how to cook and show affection, and some kids his own age to play with. If he stayed with her all he'd get were somewhat edible meals and a bitter and angry guardian. And while all these cons did stack up, the pros had as well. She was the only family he had left and it made sense to stay together, to balance each other out and accept both as the broken pieces they had become. Plus, who would teach him how to properly use his archtoon abilities? He was progressing well, but without her he would never reach his full potential. So when it came down to it she knew the right thing to do was to fight the urge to slam her head into the table a few dozen times. It wouldn't solve anything and her head was suffering enough at the moment, but she was frustrated enough to consider it.

Skippy sat on the edge of his bed, practicing his hammerspace abilities over and over again in the glow of the fireplace. Since sharing that moment with Slappy a few weeks ago, the young squirrel found that his techniques were rapidly improving. He could now grab his mallet whenever he wanted to, and was even starting to mess around with the size of it. It could be no larger than a fist or bigger than a ceiling fan, all on a simple whim. There were other things to grab from hammerspace, like anvils or bombs, but he was still learning those maneuvers. That was fine though because for the moment his mallet was more than enough to entertain him. Unfortunately he had done this enough times that his mind was free to wander as he continued.

While he had made progress with his aunt, she still didn't want him. If he truly meant so much to her, why was she refusing to adopt him? Was she simply lying to him, about caring or was there some other piece of her history that he was unaware of? And why did she have to make it so hard to be mad at her? And how was there a fireplace in a house made out of wood? That last one wasn't as important but he still wanted to know. Well at least it was nice to look at, even if it did raise some impossibility. Skippy pushed off the bed and moved closer to the fire, grabbing an iron fire-poker and pushing the wooden logs around. It crackled and popped as embers danced about. He set the poker back against the wall and sat on the floor a couple feet away, hugging his knees to his chest.

Slappy knocked on his door, not waiting for any response before she entered. "Hey Skippy," she greeted, taking a seat beside him in front of the fireplace.

"Hi Aunt Slappy," he replied unenthusiastically, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to get on your nerves."

"Yeah, well I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at ya Skip-O, but . . ."

"Yeah?" Skippy asked after her pause became unbearable.

"Well, I ain't used to not knowing what ta do. I'm always the squirrel with a plan, two steps ahead of everyone at all times. But I don't know what to do with you, and even though I can't stop thinking about it I haven't accomplished anything."

Skippy cheered up as he learned of Slappy's inner conflict, excited to find some hope for once. "Well, maybe I can help?" he offered, turning to her. "Do you really care about me?" he asked. She nodded her head, eyes fixed to the ground. "Then don't leave me."

"It's not that simple Skippy." And with that his hope died as quickly as it formed.

The brown squirrel stood up and stretched, bending down and closing the glass doors on the hearth. "Right, well we both know your answer then. I'm tired so could you leave now?" he trudged into bed and pulled the blanket up to his neck despite the warm temperature of the room, hiding his face from her. Slappy complied and moved to the door, turning to him one last time and opened her mouth before deciding that her nephew had had enough words for one night. She stepped into the hall and closed the door, shuffling towards her room as she felt the weight of knowing that she'd have to make up her mind soon and of the consequences that were going to follow. One thing that she wasn't torn over was her anger towards Walter. If it wasn't for him and his idiotic anecdote she never would have taken Skippy in. Sure, a little guilt would have been the price she paid, but it would've been better than this.

Upstairs, Slappy sat in her bed. She was debating on whether she should call Walter at this time of night, or even if he should be forced into being burdened with it. She knew her mind was aching something good and Walter's probably would too. She stifled a laugh at the notion of not wanting to annoy Walter, even though her paychecks often come from causing him bodily harm and mental duress. Slappy ended up reaching for the phone and quickly dialing his number, knowing at the very least she needed someone to talk to, even if it didn't get her the answer she wanted or needed. It rang several times before she heard the wolf's raspy voice answer, showing signs of having just been awakened. "Hello?"

"Walter, we need to talk."

"You mishugina squirrel! Do you have any idea what time it is?" he shouted into the phone, losing all traces of drowsiness. "This is the second time in the last two weeks! You better have a good reason for this or I'm blocking your calls again."

"It's the kid, Skippy." She sighed at the mention of his name and brought her free hand to her face, rubbing her forehead.

"Is he okay?" Walter asked, the aggression in his voice replaced by worry.

"Yeah, he's fine."

There was a long silence before Walter replied. "Okay, so what's wrong then?"

"I just . . . I'm confused Walter."

"They eat food, just like you and me."

Slappy laughed, finding the tension of the situation momentarily eased. "You know at your age I was hoping ya'd gotten better material Walter."

"At least mine's new, you've relied on bombs and mallets since the start of the cold war. So if he's okay what's the problem?"

"Ya gotta promise to not make a big deal out of this before I tell ya." He made some noise that resembled a confirmation and she groaned. "Fine, good enough I guess. It's just that I don't know what I should do Walter. I really do like this kid and part of me is saying I should hold onto him, but at the same time I don't think I can."

She could practically hear Walter sit up in his bed, "That's great!" he shouted. "Well, not great. Why don't you know if you should keep him?"

"Don't ya think he needs more than some old, grouchy squirrel to lean on right now?"

"Well, I suppose." Slappy's jaw dropped as that answer resonated with her. She hadn't expected Walter to agree with her, and to be honest it was the first time the wolf had actually caused her pain. "But I can tell you that an old, grouchy squirrel is much better than a bunch of strangers. You're all the kid has left Slappy, and probably the only person that's going through the same thing. So what if you groan when you get out of a chair, or throw a bomb when someone messes up your food order?" he questioned, waiting for her response.

"But I'm not good for the kid, if he stays with me he might end up as bitter as I am."

"And if you send him away then you'll pretty much destroy the only family not only you but he has left."

"Yeah, but -"

"I'm tired, so stop reaching for problems and let's do a little test. Just clear your mind for a second, one single second." Walter instructed.

Slappy took a deep breath and pushed every last thought away, leaving nothing but the wonder of what Walter's plan was. "Okay, and?"

"It's Christmas morning and you walk downstairs, what do you see?"

"Are we really doing this Walter?"

"Yes. What do you see?" the wolf repeated. There was no answer and for a second Walter thought the squirrel might've hung up. "Alright, was Skippy there?"

"Yes," Slappy groaned.

"Now how about Halloween?"

"I get it Walter, no need to hammer the plot home for me. But that's what I want, not what this kid needs."

"He needs someone who understands, and that's you."

Slappy resumed her silence and, deciding that Walter had never steered her wrong, bit her lip before coming to the biggest decision she'd ever make. "I . . . I can't get rid of the kid, can I?"

"Nope, and all it took was waking me up in the middle of the night to make you do something you could've thought up yourself. Yay!" he cheered through a yawn.

"Well, at least the kid's a genius." She added, lying down across her bed. "He's an archtoon, youngest I've ever met. We actually just started working on spin-changing."

"See, you're already bragging about him. Wait, he's an archtoon? You wasted my time asking me if you were what this kid needed and didn't tell me he was an archtoon?"

"Yeah, why?" she asked.

"Don't ever call me again." And with that she heard a click as Walter hung up. She shrugged and actually laughed, puzzled how Walter could make even the hardest of things so simple. She'd have to ask him about that later but for now all she could do was smile, a feeling of happiness washing over her. There was some indescribable sensation that came with making an important decision and feeling it was the right choice, and she was experiencing it now. She hoped Skippy was still awake, but that didn't matter because she was probably going to run in there and scream in joy regardless. Heck, Skippy had plenty of time to sleep in his room now, why not waste a night and just celebrate such a great turn of events?

She practically skipped to her nephew's room, finding more joy as she continued to call it his room. She'd have to get him some toys for that box in the corner, and maybe a little T.V. and game system, and clothes to fill that large closest. She was actually anxious to get to all these plans rather than finding them overwhelming. Was it too late to call Linda and tell her that she was right? Well that one could actually wait for the morning because she hated admitting she was wrong, though it probably wouldn't be as bad this time. Slappy pushed the door open and prepared to shout the news as loud as she could, but her lungs failed her when she discovered nothing but an empty bed where a young squirrel should've been sleeping.

Skippy somehow found that sleep didn't sound appealing, and staring at the ceiling wasn't how he was willing to spend his night. A nice walk in the park seemed much more appealing and less stuffy than his room. Silently he closed the door behind him, making sure it wasn't locked. He didn't want his aunt noticing he wasn't in bed and knocking on the door to be let in wasn't exactly subtle. He turned left and walked to the sidewalk, presented with two different paths. He could once again go left and walk deeper into the park or right where he would quickly exit into the city. He chose left and began marching down the path illuminated by the lamps. It was relaxing to feel the nice cool breeze hit his fur as he walked against it and the crickets chirping in no particular pattern seemed wonderful.

_She doesn't want to keep me. Alright, but why? What is it about me that she doesn't like? Is it because I can do these archtoon things because that's her fault, not mine. I could barely grab my mallet before we met, so it can't be that. Is it because I remind her of my mom? I can't help that, but if it really is a problem I guess I could dye my fur. Blonde's a good color, and I think I could pull it off if I absolutely have to. What else? Is it just me in general, am I broken now? Am I not good enough for her? Maybe it's because she isn't good with kids? But that's not right. She's been nothing but amazing these past few days, attentive and calm and patient. Sure, her cooking skills could use a little work, but she seems like she'd make a great caregiver. _

Skippy glanced up from the ground he'd been staring at, unaware of where he was. He'd roamed off the sidewalk long ago and now stood in front of a small lake, one that reflected the moon and street lamps in its dark blue pools. He sat down on the grass and just stayed there for a while, staring into the water and just admiring the perfect reflection. It was a simplistic little thing that he never actually appreciated, and maybe that's what he should have learned from his mom's passing. There was no telling how long he truly had with anything, so maybe he should try to appreciate it while he had the opportunity to, even if it was something as simple as a peaceful night and a beautifully blue lake. Or perhaps it was getting the opportunity to meet someone that he could truly connect with, even if it was only for a few weeks. The young squirrel pondered this as he started drifting to sleep.

Slappy kept from panicking, aware that she had made this mistake the first morning he'd stayed there. She turned back into the hall and glanced at the bathroom door, finding it wide open with the lights off. She walked downstairs, knowing she'd find him in the kitchen cooking. Unfortunately that too was empty and barren, untouched from when she left it a few hours ago. Now the panic that Slappy had prolonged came back in force, her mind immediately filling with grotesque little scenarios and questions. Had he runaway after their fight, or perhaps he was kidnapped? Okay, so the former was obviously more plausible, but she still had to cover every corner. If he did run off then it couldn't have been very long ago. She'd only spent ten minutes on the phone with Walter, if even that. So by this logic he was still pretty close to the house, maybe even within shouting distance if she was lucky. She wasted no time rushing out the door, barely remembering to shut it behind her. "Skippy!" she shouted, cupping her hand in front of her mouth as a weak makeshift megaphone. The grey squirrel looked in every direction, wondering if Skippy would have went into the city or deeper into the park. Slappy turned to the city and marched on, looking left and right for her nephew.

"Hey kid, what're you doing here?" a new voice asked. Skippy awakened, yawning and stretching. He rubbed his eyes and glanced up at a dark mallard that may or may not have been a grown adult, it was too dark to actually tell. The young squirrel rose off the ground, finding the duck standing a couple of feet above him.

"Just fell asleep for a second, I'm okay."

"I wasn't asking if you were okay," the duck elaborated, trying to sound intimidating. Skippy was unimpressed, finding that this mallard was actually just a duckling looking for a fight. "At night this is my lake."

"Right, well you have a very nice lake." Skippy said, nodding his head to the body of water. "A lot better than my lake, well it's more of a pond really. Still a very fine pond though, gets the job done."

"You trying to be smart Squirrel?" the aggressive fowl asked.

"Not trying, no." Skippy flashed his teeth in an innocent little smile before taking a deep breath. "Listen, sorry if I'm a little snarky right now but I'm going through a lot in my life. So we can both shake hands and introduce ourselves or I can just be on my way." The young squirrel held out his hand in a friendly manner, wondering if this equally young mallard would ease off before he got hurt. He wasn't hoping for it though. Sadly the duck did oblige, taking Skippy's hand and shaking it politely, but only at first. Before the squirrel knew what was happening he was being pulled over the mallard's body and slammed into the ground. The grass did soften the blow, but he could feel some blades stuck between his two buckteeth.

Skippy groaned as he rose once again rose from the ground, spitting the grass and dirt out of his mouth. "You see, I was actually hoping you'd do that." Skippy felt his tail being pulled on and quickly turned around, bringing a mallet down on his attacker's webbed foot so quickly that it surprised both of them. The mallard let out a loud yelp as he started hopping around, gripping his injured foot in the air. Skippy glanced at his mallet in wide-eyed amazement, glad to find that he was now using it instinctively. The young squirrel debated on whether another slam, this time located at the head, was required. He shook it off as too mean and returned the wooden instrument to hammerspace before offering a steady hand for the duck to grab onto. "Here, take it for balance." The mallard stopped jumping about as his foot returned to firm ground, swelled to a bright red bump.

"You little rodent!" the duck shouted, grabbing the fur of Skippy's chest and lifting him off the ground. The young squirrel did not struggle, his arms and legs hanging limply as an unimpressed expression glazed his face. The mallard pulled his free hand back, preparing to launch it at Skippy's face.

"Wait!" he shouted, moments before his face could be introduced to the fist. The duck hesitated, hand staying firmly in place. Skippy gulped and wondered what his aunt would've done in this situation. He was not his aunt though, obvious when he didn't take the opportunity to strike another blow with his mallet. Still, imitating her would probably be a good decision at this time. The brown squirrel cleared his mind and pictured just what he wanted to grab from hammerspace before placing his hand behind his back. "Can't we just make up and be friends?" he asked, pulling his hand back to reveal a bouquet of flowers. The duck was visibly confused at the offering, leaning his face closer in what could be called idiotic curiosity. Skippy turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, waiting for the large boom to follow.

Slappy walked back into the park, pausing at her house to see if any light was on. Sighing, she leaned against the tree and tried to fight the tears of distraught forming in the corner of her eyes. Her nephew could be so very far away by now and every second she didn't find him made her question her ability to take care of the kid on a permanent basis. Why did he have to sneak out this of all nights, right when she'd made the decision they both wanted? Maybe she should just give up and call the police, put out flyers of the kid and offer rewards for finding him?

And then there was the boom. Loud and attention grabbing as it brightened up the night sky off in the not-too-distant distance. Slappy smiled, aware that the only other archtoon in the area went by the name of Skippy Squirrel. Excitement and happiness was replaced by fear as she couldn't recall teaching him anything on explosives, especially the more challenging ones that came purely from being formed in hammerspace rather than being placed there. Had Skippy harmed himself in some test to prove his abilities? Or was he trying to defend himself against some attacker? It was the middle of the night and he was a small, seemingly defenseless child out on his own. The grey squirrel moved faster than she knew she could as she sprinted off towards the lake.

Skippy opened his eyes, glad to find that the flowers exploded into the duck's face and left him untouched. The mallard dropped Skippy on the ground and fell over, a look of pain on his soot covered face. The young squirrel glanced at the tattered remains of the bouquet in his hand, everything but the handle a mess. "Skippy!" he heard from behind the trees. Would Slappy be angry at him? Well yes, he did sneak out and had worried her. But would she be mad that he used his talents to defend himself against an ordinary toon? Or what about doing something as stupid as pulling explosives out of hammerspace when he had no prior experience? He looked down at the duck not much older than himself, who had momentarily passed out, his tongue hanging outside his mouth as he muttered some unintelligible gibberish. This did not make for a good picture.

Slappy ran past the trees and found her nephew standing over a duck, who had obviously just been the victim of a bomb. She spotted the broken bouquet clutched in his hand and was relieved that he hadn't harmed himself, not to mention a little proud that he had pulled it off. "Uh, hi Aunt Slappy," he waved at her and gave a nervous smile. "This is my friend . . . the mallard." He gestured to the fowl passed out on the ground, only now remembering that they had not exchanged names. Slappy remained quiet, frightening the victorious child more than the bully could ever hope to. "I'm sorry about him, but I didn't mean to get into a fight. I was just lying down in front of this lake and he said it was his and I mocked him a little, not too much but still. Anyway I tried to apologize and he got angry and I was just defending myself and –"

Slappy wrapped him in her arms and hugged him, cutting off his long-winded sentence. He lost the ability to breathe as she squeezed him. Was this his punishment, being strangled to death with love? "Skip-O, I'm proud of ya." She released him from her tight grip and let him catch his breath. "But if you ever sneak out of your room again I am grounding you for a year." She rubbed his head affectionately and took joy in the slow realization that formed on his face.

"Wait . . . no. You're just saying that, right?" he asked, waiting for her to nod. She didn't and he began to fear that maybe he was still asleep on the ground, or maybe the duck had landed that punch to the face and he had passed out. Was his victory entirely in his mind? It was certainly a possibility, hell it was a strong one. How could he have managed to pull out explosive flowers? Or was this the storm breaking or the sun rising or some other metaphor about a situation that got better over time? It did have to happen sometime, and with his recent bad luck maybe he was just getting an extra helping this night. Skippy shook his head and tried to hold back the tears in his eyes, but there was no fighting this one. He smiled and sobbed a little, probably making Slappy uncomfortable. He collected himself a few seconds later and wiped at his eyes. "So was it scaring you to death that changed your mind?"

"Well I did get a little support from my friend Walter."

"Remind me to send him a basket of acorns." Skippy glanced down at the duck again, who was finally beginning to stir. He would never be aware of the small role he'd played in one of Skippy's proudest moments. That didn't matter as this kid wasn't someone the young squirrel saw himself befriending later in life for obvious reasons. "Should I apologize to him?"

"Nah! Kid had it coming. Heck, you might've taught him a valuable lesson?" she suggested. "Besides, you should meet his father. Real run of the mill hacks that's always good for a laugh. So what's say we head home and get some sleep? I don't know about you but I've had a pretty stressful night." She turned away from the lake and started walking back to the house.

Skippy chased after her, "Night? Try living the past two weeks of my life and get back to me on what stress means."

"Yeah yeah, well at least you don't have to call that Linda woman tomorrow and tell her she was right."

"You didn't have to deal with her for three days."

"Alright, I'll give you that one. How about arthritis?"

"Orphan?"

"Lumbago?"

"No idea what that one is, but I'm sure it can't trump orphan."

"Yeah well until you find out what it means you can't be sure."

* * *

Slappy huffed, carrying the last box up the stairs. Skippy ran out of his room and helped her before she reached the top, taking a lot of the strain out of it. "Is this the last one?" he asked. Slappy nodded, unaware that her nephew couldn't see her over the box. "Huh?"

"Yeah, last one. Why do you have so many toys anyway?" she questioned as they slowly inched into his newly decorated room. "When I was your age all I needed was a stick, a hoop, and a cardboard cutout of Marlon Brando."

"How did you find the time to play with toys when you had to fend off the dinosaurs?" he teased.

"Well feeding them little squirrel boys seemed to entertain them." They dropped the box in front of his toy chest and Slappy took a breather on the edge of his while he unpacked. "So how's this room feel now that it ain't so empty?" she asked, glancing from him kneeling in front of the box to all the various little posters and pictures he'd hung up.

"It feels great Aunt Slappy," he cheerfully stated as he finished with the box. "And what about you, how does it feel to be an official guardian now?"

"The perks aren't that great, and the kid is a bit annoying, but I think I can manage." Slappy glanced at the clock he'd put on his nightstand, surprised to find that they'd been unpacking for the last four hours. "Anyway, now that we're done with your room, let's say we walk to your school. I wanna be sure you know the route for Monday." She hopped off the bed and adjusted her hat as Skippy suppressed a smug little grin. Did she ever imagine she'd be walking her kid to school, or that her house would get a little crowded? Probably not, but he didn't expect to feel this happy ever again. He closed the lid of his toy chest with only a bit of struggle, finding that hammerspace distortion wasn't required at the moment.

He ran his hand through the top of the fur on his head and glanced around his room, feeling a sense of pride that came with having a space that was all his own. His stomach growled and surprised him, not aware of his hunger until that very moment. "Can we get food afterwards? I'm starving."

"Sure, in fact I know this one particular tree that always has the tastiest walnuts growing on it. The best ones are at the very top, but it takes me way too long to climb up there these days. You any good at climbing trees?"

Skippy glanced at her with a small smirk, "I'm a squirrel, which means I have a craving for acorns and the ability to climb trees."

"Good, if you climb up to the top I might give you a nickel."

"Wow, a shiny nickel?" he was sure to coat the response in as much sarcasm as he could, rolling his eyes as well. "Are you joking Aunt Slappy?" Skippy questioned.

"When I was your age a nickel for climbing a tree was a pretty good deal."

"We've already done the "when I was your age" thing Aunt Slappy." He clarified as the elder squirrel walked out of the room. He followed her down the stairs and out the front door, closing it shut behind them.

* * *

**A/N: **So good ending or bad? I felt it did well. Hate the mallard thing but that is only because I don't think regular cartoon-violence can be accurately portrayed in words or letters. Anyway, thanks for reading and have a fantastic life.


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